


Patience for the Returned

by Muscarie



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Last of Us, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Featuring the crossover no one ever asked for, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2018-06-01 22:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6537856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muscarie/pseuds/Muscarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Have patience, patience for the Returned<br/>For they forgot what they've returned to,<br/>But not what they've returned from.</p>
<p>Thranduil has been hearing these words from Lady Galadriel for some time now, without knowing who they refer to. One dawn, he hears the warning again, louder, and follows it to the river.<br/>There, he makes a discovery that will shake his and Legolas' existence: his long lost wife, returned.<br/>Except she remembers nothing of Middle Earth, and least of all him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Patience for the Returned

"Thranduil"

Her voice rings in his very core, shaking him from sleep.

Galadriel.

"Have patience for the Returned, for they forgot what they've returned to, but not what they've returned from."

It is not the first time she gives him this message, but her voice is sounding more urgent each time. Pressing. Insisting. Feverish. At first, the Elven King believes it is about Legolas, recently returned from battle, is his mind forever scarred by what he's seen? As the Lady of Light's messages return, again and again, more and more, louder and louder, Thranduil understands it is not about his son, though he knows not who else it could possibly be about.

Tauriel? 

Her grief has shattered her, and he fears for her welfare. Did she truly love the Dwarf, to the point of not returning from his death? He sits with her, listens when she wishes to speak, remains silent when there is nothing to say. Legolas takes over when he leaves. Tauriel has faded a bit, she who used to be the brightest colour in the forest. Her lips are pale, her hair is darkened. There is no longer the same grace to her step. Yet, she lives, and if her eyes stare into nothing they still see, life is not completely drained from her. She may yet return from this.

"Have patience, patience for the Returned." Says Galadriel.

He is nothing if not patient with Tauriel. Why would the Lady of Lorien feel the need to want him so?

"They forgot what they've returned to." This does not apply to Tauriel, nor does it apply to Legolas.

"Not what they've returned from."

He questions her, but only her repeated warnings come. So, Thranduil shows patience, and he waits, waits for the Returned.

"Thranduil!"

The voice shouts him awake, desperate, panicked, and the Elven King sits up in his bed, his breathing harsh and laboured. 

"The Returned!" Presses Galadriel.

Thranduil stands, puts on his robe and grabs a sword.

"The Returned!" Begs Galadriel, "she is returned!"

The words are tangled in his head, almost too loud to allow him to walk. He paces down the corridor, a hand on the wall to steady himself, and he stops only when he reaches his son's chambers.

"Legolas" he calls, quietly, for he knows his son is not likely to be asleep. 

Legolas wakes just before dawn, just like his mother used to.

The door open and the Prince steps out.

"Take your bow," commands the King. "Take your bow and follow me."

"The river, Thranduil, she is returned!" Calls Galadriel, so loud it makes him flinch.

The two elves leave, ignoring the guards' puzzled looks as they pass by, and they walk into the woods, their pace fast and assured. Thranduil leads the way, two fingers pressed to his temple in an effort to numb the pain Galadriel's warnings are causing him.

"The river" she says, and everything is tangling into a nearly inaudible flow, "the returned, it is she, the returned, have patience!"

These last two words are whispered and shouted, they plead and they command, they beg and they scold and they stop only when he reaches the water.

The river is black, and calm, and vicious. There is not a sound to be heard. 

Thranduil looks at the dark waters, as still as a mirror. He sees nothing. Patience.

"Father?" Questions Legolas. When he fails to get a response, the Prince insists: "I have heard her warnings too." 

Thranduil is surprised. Shouldn't a son share this kind of information with his father? His only remaining family?

"I have heard the Lady Galadriel's warnings too. I believed them to be about Tauriel."

"So did I."

They stand still for a few moments, but the woods are dark and still and the river is unchanged. The warnings have stopped.

Thranduil shakes his head, makes to turn around.

It is but a flash, something pale and dead, in the water, it appears briefly out the corner of his eye, but he sees it. One look at the water, and he sees it. The Returned. Thranduil takes a step closer, and he sees her.

A pale face, grey as death, purple lips, the great mane of hair he's admired so.

His knees betray him, and his body shakes as he falls, holding out his arms to retrieve his beloved from the poisonous waters.

"Sîrriel!" The cry escapes him, and it is the most emotion he has expressed in a long time. His hands break the black mirror and grasp at the dead Queen, and he pulls her to him, she is cold and still and he cries and calls her name. The shock is so great that Thranduil fails to hear Galadriel as the Lady of Light begs him once more, her tone apologetic:

"Thranduil, have patience, patience for the Returned, for they forgot what they've returned to, but not what they returned from."


	2. Unhappy Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I've sinned again.

When Ellie wakes, it's not the strike of cold panic that comes with not remembering where you are that makes her jump out of bed and fall gracelessly to the floor, but the hands around hers, and another one on her forehead. Without mentioning the very old man standing by. She jerks, dives out of the bed and discovers that her legs have decided not to work just yet. What you have to understand, is that the last thing Ellie remembers before this bed and these strangers is turning around, seeing the horde, and making the decision to jump into the water, to her death. She was out of ammo, out of stamina, out of luck, and she preferred drowning to being eaten alive. With a bit of luck, the impact with the ice cold water a hundred meters below would knock her out, and the drowning bit would just be a commodity. So she jumped, and when she hit the water her eyes closed and now they've opened again and here she is.

Crawling, Ellie gets perhaps a couple of steps away before she is caught, arms enclosing around her body. She's anticipated that though, and she rolls around to kick her assailant in the face. Her legs agree with her for a little bit and she gets up, stumbling, holding on to whatever she finds and holding her empty hand out towards the three men. They keep their distance, and Ellie gets a proper look at them.

Two of them are blond, tall, pale. They look very much alike, and their hair is straight and ridiculously long and well kept. The other one is very tall, very old, very grey, and wears shaggy grey robes. Ellie keeps her hand out at them, despite it being empty of its trusty gun. They are staring back at her, weary, careful, the one she kicked had deep red blood reaching for his lips but seems unbothered. Ellie risks a look around. A bed, soft and comfortable. Soft, warm light. Wide open windows opening onto a green forest. Water by the bed, and a sponge. She can feel the drops of cool water on her forehead, soothing.

"Sîriel," says the old man in grey, and he starts talking, but the words are gibberish. She can still understand the tone, though, and the tone says not to worry, that they aren't here to harm her. Perhaps she hasn't drowned, and they found her in the river?

Ellie shakes her head. "I don't understand you." She tells him.

But the old man keeps talking, and talking, calmly, and the strangest thing occurs: the words start making sense, or Ellie starts hearing them right, or they lull her in, she isn't sure, but she now understands what he says, and when she opens her mouth to ask what language that is the words formed by her lips are foreign yet familiar, new and old.

"We are speaking Sindar," answers the old man. "Your language."

"Right." 

This is mad. These guys look wrong. They look illuminated, lit from the inside. The older man looks more normal, apart from his insane beard and outfit. This is a cult. A flipping cult.

"Right." Repeats Ellie, straightening up, lowering her hand. "Where are my clothes?"

They all frown.

"On your back, my Lady." Replies the older man.

The other two exchange a look.

"My normal clothes." Specifies Ellie. She's wearing some sort of silky, greenish sleeping gown. She tries not to let the fact that they've clearly undressed her get to her.

"The clothes you were found in were wet, my Lady. I am afraid they were disposed of."

"Ok. Right." Ellie nods. "That makes sense." They're standing between her and the door, but the windows to her right are not, in fact, open, they simply have no glass. Good. She could jump onto a tree and run. Where the hell are they? And who the hell are these blond guys? Hippies? 

"How do you feel, my Lady?" Asks the old man, and Ellie recognises that he's asked the question before, and that she now understands it.

"Better. Thank you. I'll be going now."

"Sîrriel!" The taller of the blond men calls out, and is stopped by the older man as he tries to walk to her. He's wiped the blood off his nose, the smudged red a sharp contrast on his pale skin. He's looking at her like they've met before, like she should know who the hell he is.

"Ellie." She corrects him. The robes make her trip and she picks them up. She looks out onto the gigantic forest out there. Where are they?? "I'm going to need some shoes, please?" She tells them.

"It is not safe. You must stay here." Says the other blond man.

"I'm perfectly capable of travelling on my own, trust me, I-" she's got one leg hooked over the window sill.

The old man whispers something and Ellie is asleep before she hits the floor.

*

"She said her name was Ellie." Says Legolas, as he and Thranduil watch over the long lost queen, returned. She has awoken again, and is in the gardens. She looks scared, but defiant, and she stares at everything and everyone in both awe and hostility. Gandalf is speaking to her.

"She is Elven," continues the prince, "yet she seems so..."

"Human." Finishes Thranduil.  
Everything in Sîrriel's behaviour suggests human upbringing. She is impatient, open, hungry, vocal, acts before she thinks, speaks her mind at all times. He'd always been charmed by her honesty and passion, but this goes beyond his queen's natural character: this is mortality. Yet here she is, returned, definitely Elven, from the pointed tip of her ears to the light that shines within, she is one of them.

"Father, are you sure it is her? She said her name was Ellie."

"It is her."

"She has no recollection of us, or Mithrandir, or Mirkwood. She attacked you."

"Do you think I would not recognise my queen, Legolas? The mother of my child? The companion of a thousand years?"

"Forgive me. I, on the other hand, have no memory to compare her to."

There is the slightest bite to his voice, but Thranduil chooses to ignore it.

"Is it true?"

The two of them turn around as Tauriel approaches. It pains Legolas to see her like is, her hair dull and disshevelled, her skin pale, yet this is the first time she has spoken and moved in a while.

"Is this her?"

"Tauriel, this is your queen. Sîrriel."

"My mother." Adds Legolas.

"She has returned from the dead!" It is in equal parts a question and an affirmation, and at this Legolas remains quiet.

"No... Body was ever found to bury." Reluctantly replies Thranduil.

Years, decades,searching. Each painful minute embedded in his memory, eating away at his heart until there was nothing left. Live for the child, that's what she would have wanted of you.

"Perhaps she had not been killed after all."

"Would she have been kept prisoner? Perhaps her mind broke, and this is why she does not know us?"

"She does not know you?" Asks Tauriel.

"She believes her name is Ellie. She believes herself to be human."

"May I meet her?"

The request is so unexpected that both Legolas and Thranduil do not know how to meet it. Legolas looks at his father, a silent plea in his eyes. Tauriel has never seemed so lively.

"Very well." Agrees the King. 

Tauriel makes her way down to the gardens, passing the guards who throw her a surprised look. She was their captain, and they had not seen her since the battle of the five armies.  
At her approach, Sîrriel stiffens, then relaxes, perhaps because Tauriel's tortured appearance is more similar to that of a human. The two elves see Tauriel extend her hand, greeting Sîrriel as a human would. After a while, Mithrandir leaves the clearing and joins them.

"What have you learned?" Eagerly presses Legolas.

"She... She is your queen, Thranduil, there is no doubt of that. But she has... Forgotten."

"Has she returned from the dead?" 

Thranduil is silent.

"No, I do not believe she has. I believe she was never dead. I believe your queen was sent away, quite accidentally so, and has spent some time in another world. She... Remembers that world, she remembers growing up there and fighting for survival. She was human there, her name was Ellie, and her world was overrun by some sort of disease which has turned men into violent monsters that eat human flesh. There are no elves or dwarves or wizards or even orcs in her past world. She showed me her arm, there is a bite mark on there, from human teeth. She tells me that normally bites turn other humans into infected ones, but for some reason she showed resistance to the disease and has not turned."

"Probably because she is not human." Says Thranduil, harshly, trying to erase from his mind the image of his love being bitten by some crazed monster.

"Yes... She thought we were keeping her here because of her immunity. I believe it has attracted her unwanted attention before."

"Have you explained the truth to her?"

"I- tried. Your mother, Legolas, must have died or nearly so here, then was born again in that world, and had no recollection of this one. Now that she is returned, after another near death experience in that other world, she remembers her life there but not her life here, and I cannot explain why. Thranduil, what were Lady Galadriel' s exact words to you?"

"Have patience for the Returned, for they forgot what they've returned to, but not what they've returned from."

"Patience. Wise words." The old Istar nods thoughtfully, before looking around for something.

Thranduil almost smiles. Mortals. He gestures towards the food he has had set up on a nearby table, and Mithrandir goes to it.

"What will you do, Adar?" Enquires Legolas, and all of a sudden he sounds like an elfling again, unsure, asking for his father's opinion.

"Speak to her." Replies Thranduil, and he tries hard not to let the nerves get the better of him.

As he approaches them, Thranduil sees that Sîrriel notices him, and he sees her square her shoulders and hold her head high, ready to defend her life. To think that there was a time when she'd run to him, and melt into his arms, the shift in her attitude towards him is crushing. The distrust in her eyes angers and saddens him all at once.

Patience.

He stops a few steps away and bows lightly. He tries to think of what may soften a human Sîrriel.

"Sîrriel." He says, keeping his voice as unthreatening as possible. "I trust you have had a restful sleep. I have arranged for some foo-"

She's moved extremely fast, shoving him with all her strength. He stumbles back.

"What have you done to my face?!?"

She grabs his collar, pulls him down to her, shouting.

"What have you done to my face!?"

The sudden nearness is intoxicating. The pale green eyes, the light freckles, the full, pink lips. His love, returned. He cannot answer her, he is lost. He stares into her eyes, follows the curve of her lips, he knows resistance is futile. How many nights has he dreamed of her, how many nights...! His arms move of their own accord and soon he is embracing her, and she fights, but he cannot let go, because he's missed her for so long and he's been deprived of her for so long and now she is returned to him and he cannot let go.

He does let go.

When her knee crashes against his crotch, he does let go.


	3. Of Freckles and Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gandalf has fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, if you are mad enough to follow me down this rabbit hole of unwanted crossovers.  
> In this chapter, they make peace, kind of.

"'Tis remarkable." Breathes Lord Elrond, deep in thought, a hand over his mouth.

The elf Lord, Mithrandir, Thranduil and Legolas are seated at Mirkwood's King Table, discussing the sudden turn of events.

The queen of Mirkwood has returned, and she has no memory of being a queen, nor of being an elf. She has no memory of her husband, and none of her son. Her son, whom she loved more dearly than life itself.

"Has her appearance... Changed?"

"No," easily says Thranduil. "She is Sîrriel, there is no doubt of that. She walks and eats and sleeps like the mortal she believes herself to be, but she is Elven, there is no doubt." After a brief pause, he adds: "she seems to believe I have altered her looks."

"She has been pulling at her own ears for the best part of the day," chuckles Gandalf, before catching himself. "She remembers having round ears, and a lot more freckles. She also remembers being shorter!" He lets out another little laugh at the thought.

"The scar on her eyebrow is new," comments Thranduil. 

"Left over from her past world, no doubt. It sounded a most violent place."

"A land run over by the dead," echoes Elrond, "a land plagued by such evil that man is its only resident, and men grow mad with hunger until they eat their kin and spread the disease of semi death!"

"There is another scar on her arm," continues Gandalf. "A bite mark, made by human teeth. Ellie, as she tells us her name is, was bitten as a child, and this was how she discovered her immunity to the disease."

"Truly!" Lord Elrond falls into deep thoughts again, scowling at the table top. "Gandalf, you do not believe that there is a chance that whatever disease has destroyed Ellie's world... Might have travelled with Sîrriel?"

There is a heavy silence upon them all as Thranduil holds his breath.

"...no." Says the wizard, at last. "I do not believe that the Valar would be so cruel." 

They remained seated in quiet contemplation for a few moments, until the charm is broken by Gandalf's half chuckle, half coughing fit.

"What might you find so amusing, Gandalf?" Questions Thranduil, though he has a feeling he knows the answer already.

"The lady Sîrriel did not recognise her husband," laughs Gandalf, speaking to Elrond. "The reunion was most... Entertaining."

"Pray tell?" Inquires Elrond, teasing.

"If you'll excuse me, I shall leave you two to your tales. I must go and apologise." Says Thranduil as he stands, head high, thankful for his ability to mask the red rising to his cheeks.

He finds his wife in her old quarters, staring at her own reflection. The red, golden glow of autumn warms her skin and lights up her hair in the most glorious way. For a moment, Thranduil is stunned into silence, and he can only watch at this scene so familiar and yet so foreign. It is her frustrated, but half hearted slap at the mirror that shakes him out of his state.

"Sîrriel," he whispers, calmly, quietly, so as not to startle her. Or, Eru forbid, antagonise her further.

She jumps nonetheless and whirls around to face him.

"It's Ellie." She corrects, harshly.

"Forgive me. I know you from a different name."

"...yeah."

And that is all she says. Suddenly feeling the weight of the situation, Thranduil tries to remember what he came for.

"My lady Ellie," the name is foreign, wrong, "I came to apologise to you, for the way I reacted upon seeing earlier today. You must understand that to me, it appeared I was reunited with a most beloved wife."

"The one called Sîrriel."

"Indeed."

"Yeah, I guess I understand. I mean, you must really miss her." She is incredibly mortal, she fidgets as she talks, unable to stand still, like Men seem to be. "Sorry I'm not her. I hope you do find her."

But you are her! He feels like yelling, stops himself at the last second. Do not antagonise her. Have patience.

"I believe you are Sîrriel," he begins, cautious. She looks like she is about to start an argument, but thankfully she decides to hold her tongue. "But that you have forgotten. You were killed, centuries ago, and were reborn in that world you now remember. You were killed there, and now you are returned to us. I do not know why. I do not wish to know why. I am... Simply overcome with the joy of gazing upon your beloved face again."

His voice is raw with emotion and he stops himself before he gets lost in his own sorrow again, but all feelings are wiped clean as Sîrriel lets out a little laugh.

"Sorry," she chuckles. "It's just that... You don't look overcome with anything. You don't look like you ever get overcome with anything." She must see his frown, because she feels the need to explain herself. "I mean, you don't look very... You're quite stoic. You, uh... You're not very... Expressive." She smiles as she says the last word, obviously proud of herself. "I'm sorry I hit you. I know now it wasn't you who changed the way I look." She adds.

"It is forgiven."

Her gaze wanders again, going back to her reflection.

"What's wrong with my hair?" She says, finally.

"I see absolutely nothing wrong with your hair."

"Yes, that's what I mean." She replies, exasperated. Then, she does something that Thranduil has never actually seen anyone do in his long life. She reaches up, and starts purposefully messing her curls, trying to tease the smoothness out of them.

"My hair has never looked like this. First the ears, now the hair! And my freckles have gone. I can see I look better, but I don't look like me. I don't care about looking pretty."

"You have always had, and always will have, freckles, Sîrriel. I can see them."

Yes, he can see them. Little particles of gold sprinkled over her nose and cheeks. How he wishes he could just walk over to her and kiss her face relentlessly, until she remembers everything of their love. Such as, how she used to dislike her freckles, until he whispered to her that they were the reason she caught his eye in first place.

Unaware, she squints at the mirror, trying to see them.

"Perhaps your Elven eyesight has not returned yet." Suggests Thranduil, hoping she does not hear the sudden roughness of his voice. She doesn't.

"Right, sure. Why is my hair so long? Why is your hair so long? Why do we all have such long hair?" She pulls at hers. "Maybe I could cut it..."

"No!" Yells Thranduil, unable to stop himself. She jumps and looks back to him. Her hand reaches for something, anything, on the shelf by the window.

"Please," says the Elven King, trying to school his expression. "My love, we do not... Cut hair. It is a sign of dishonour."

"That sounds stupid."

She's provoking him, and he does not bite. She's reminding a lot of a young Legolas, at this instant.

"Stupid!" She repeats, "it's too long, too impractical, what am I supposed to do with it?"

"We could braid it. If you let me-" 

Her reaction is physical. She flinches away, scowls, shakes her head. Thranduil turns his heart away from the intense hurt her rejection has caused him. There had been a time when his wife loved nothing more than his hands in her hair. The heated memories this brought back helped Thranduil realise that it was perhaps not the wisest thing, for him to touch her hair.

"Or let someone help. Tauriel. Let Tauriel show you how to braid your hair."

After a long while, she nods.

Thranduil turns to leave, when Sîrriel - Ellie - calls him back. Or tries to.

" Tandrul."

"It's Thranduil, my lady."

"I want pants." She declares, arms crossed and chin high. He raises an eyebrow at her, and she deflates ever so slightly. "I don't like wearing skirts. It's not practical. I want to wear trousers, and a shirt. And I want to keep a knife with me. Please."

She's looking at him, her light green eyes, so wide, so lovely, her soft lips pressed together, and he waits, worried, as if there was anything in the world he would refuse her.

"Very well."

She smiles. She smiles a Sîrriel smile, a smile that was always different to that of the other Elven ladies. It starts on one side and it digs charming dimples into her round cheeks. She's smiling at him, and suddenly things are not so dark.

Suddenly, there is hope.


	4. Legolas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you remember the scene from Beauty and the Beast, when the Beast shouts at Belle and she runs away?
> 
> Ellie meets her son.
> 
> It does not go down well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive thank you to the comments and kudos you lovely people have been leaving on this story. To be honest, I was going off this story, but now I'm a bit more motivated and I think I know where I'm taking this. So yeah, sorry, but there will be more!!
> 
> If you know the Last of Us, then fear not, we shall reveal Joel's fate soon. And if you don't, all you need to know is that Ellie is this feisty girl who grew up in a post apocalyptic world full of zombies. She gets bitten and realises she's immune. It's an excellent game, and if you don't want to play it I recommend you watch a playthrough, because it is amazing, it's like a film. Anyways, I don't own it, and I don't own the Hobbit.
> 
> Enough chit chat, thank you again for taking the time to read this random story, and hope you enjoy :)
> 
> (Next chapter will be longer)

Tauriel is a very decent teacher, but despite the elleth's best efforts, all Ellie learns to do is braid her hair into a single French plait. Still, it does the job, and gets the annoying tresses how of her face.

True to his word, Thranduil gives her some more practical clothing. They are thick leggings, a dark green, and some sort of tunic, a dark brown. Further observation reveals the outfits to be that of the guard, minus the armor. He gives her shoes, too, which help her feel safer. To her, walking barefoot felt like being naked, and he stammers quite comically when she tells him so.

Ellie spends a few days with Tauriel, the red haired one. She asks her questions about where they are, and who they are, and why are they here, and what are they doing, and where will they go next. Tauriel answers her questions with much patience and kindness, but still, the queen is not satisfied. One evening, as they sit together, Ellie leans in and whispers:

"You don't really believe in any of this, do you?"

"What do you mean, my lady?" Asks Tauriel, puzzled.

"This is clearly a cult. Come on, just tell me. I'll help you run."

"A...cult?"

"It's all fake. They're all insane. And that guy, that Elven King dude, he's their guru, isn't he? Has he got a harem or something? Are you all his wives?"

"Pardon?" Tauriel is so shocked that her voice rises an octave, making all nearby elves stare at them in surprise. "My lady, no, I would never! It cannot be! We elves marry only once, we have one spouse only! It would break our very soul to even-"

"All right, all right, calm down, I'm sorry."

"The King loves only you, my lady." The red haired is still in a state, and Ellie throws a worried look around them. "Your disappearance greatly damaged him, and if it were not for your son, he most certainly would hav-"

"My WHAT?"

Whenever Ellie does or says something particularly shocking to the "elves", they send for Gandalf, the old man. The "big guns", as Ellie likes to think of him.

And sure enough, when Ellie refuses to remember her made up son, Gandalf is called to speak to her.

"Sîrriel has a son," explains Gandalf. 

Tauriel is standing nearby, and so are Thranduil and the other blond one, as well as the new one, with the dark hair.

"She gave birth to him shortly before her disappearance. We believe that you are Sîrriel-"

"It is not just a belief, Gandalf." Interrupts Thranduil.

"-and therefore, Tauriel here has spoken of your son."

"Right."

Ellie is torn between laughing and crying, because, what if she does have a son? What if she's been in a coma for long, and they've abused her, and she's actually got a baby? She reasons with herself that there would be a scar, or something, if really they'd had cut a baby out of her belly.

It's just another one of their delusions.

"And where is this son?" She asks, not bothering to conceal the acid sarcasm in her voice.

They all fall silent, then the blond one takes a step forward. He puts his hand on his heart and bows to her, his face serious, almost scared.

"This is Legolas." Says Gandalf, watching her carefully. "Your son."

Ellie laughs. No one else does. Her face falls. She meets the eyes of her "son", Legolas. He looks genuinely moved.

"Are you-" she pauses, searches for the right words. Does not find them. "Are you fucking serious, right now?"

They all flinch at the curse, but she does not care.

"Are you serious? Gandalf, you're sane, aren't you? You're the sanest of the lot, anyway. Are you actually fucking serious?!"

"My lady-" 

"No! No!" She stands. "For fuck's sake, look at him!"

She waves wildly at the fully grown man.

"Look at him!"

"I look at him!" booms Thranduil, the only one her outburst has not frightened. "And I see your cheekbones, your chin, Sîrriel, and your dimples in his smile. I look at him and I see your father's eyes."

His loud voice successfully quiets her for a moment, and her eyes unconsciously search for an exit.  
Legolas is standing by the door, and Ellie sees the look of hurt on his face. Does he actually believe in all this craziness?

"Legolas, is it?" She calls to him. "Listen, dude, look at me. Look at us. You're the same age as me, for goodness sake! How old are you? I'm 24. What are you? 25, maybe?"

"Enough!" Shouts Thranduil, before addressing his son. "Legolas, your mother is not fully returned to us as of yet. We must be patient."

"You're not his father." Yells Ellie. "You're the same age too! How does no one see that?"

"Has someone spoken to you about the immortality of the elves, my lady?" Asks the dark haired one.

"Yes." Says Ellie, pacing her corner of the room. "She has." She points at Tauriel, cowering in the corner. "But her brain is clearly just as washed as yours. What's your name?"

"I am Lord Elrond of Rivendell. We were once friends."

"Lord Elrond of Rivendell," giggles Ellie, her nerves giving over. "How flipping lovely." She stops pacing and puts a hand to her heart. "I am queen Sîrriel of Mirkwood," she says, then points at Gandalf. "And this is Lord Gandalf of the Beards. This is Tauriel of the Gorgeous Hair. What about you, Legolas? What do you want your name to be? Prince of the Plaits?"

"Legolas, leave." Commands Thranduil. "Go with him!" He barks at Tauriel, and the elleth scurries after Legolas.

Ellie is left with the other three, and suddenly, she feels scared. She's alone, with three insane men, and one of them is clearly mad at her. Maybe she's an idiot. Maybe she should just play the game until she can run.

"Thranduil!" There's warning in Gandalf's voice, as the tallest elf, the King, her self proclaimed husband, walks to her in four long strides. She backs away until she meets the wooden wall.

"You will not hurt Legolas," he says, harshly, towering over her. "He has dreamt of you his whole life, and you will not hurt him, whoever you think you are. I will not tolerate it, and neither would you, Sîrriel."

Her eyes burn with tears of anger, and fear. He really is frightening, with his height, his strenght, his anger. She sees him see the tears, then he starts moving his arm and Ellie's instincts kick in. She raises her own arm in a protective barrier over her face, and shuts her eyes.

The blow does not come.

When she reopens her eyes, Ellie finds Thranduil still above her, but all traces of anger have left his face, and he appears crestfallen, astonished, horrified.

"Melleth!" He whispers, like a plea. "My love," he repeats, "I would never...!"

She uses this sudden turn of events to slip away from him and make her way to the door. Thankfully, the other two do not try to stop her, but instead step aside to let her through. Ellie runs away.

She runs down the tree and across the clearing.

She pushes past guards and throws herself against two heavy gates and runs into the woods.

She runs and runs and her clothes catch on sharp twigs and still she runs. 

And when she cannot run anymore, Ellie falls to the floor, and she cries.

The last time she's ever cried was when she was fourteen and Joel said he was leaving her behind, and Ellie is angry that she's so upset over some crazy cultists. She's humoured them long enough, now she's leaving.

But still, no matter how hard she tries, she cannot shake the image of Legolas's grief stricken face out of her mind.

And it hurts, by God, it really hurts.


	5. In the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know the scene from Beauty and the Beast, when Belle runs into the forest and gets attacked by wolves, and the Beast comes to save her?
> 
> That's it, I promise, no more Beauty and the Beast after this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for indulging me with this weird story :)  
> In this chapter, Ellie sort of decides to play the game.  
> Still not owning a thing.

She refuses the hurt because Legolas means nothing to her. Why should she be upset over some random guy's delusions? If he's crazy enough to think she's his mum, then that's his issue. She's probably exactly the same age as him, if not younger.

And that Thranduil guy being his dad! 

As she runs and walks and makes her way through the woods, Ellie gradually begins to seriously wonder where the hell she is.

The forest is gigantic. Ancient. Very, very dense. Very little light filters through the trees, and the sky is completely hidden above her.

This simply cannot be Wyoming.

Just how far have they taken her? And how has her hair grown so much? Ellie's hair, last she remembers, reached her shoulders at best. This ridiculously long and lush mane would have taken years to grow, yet she does not look any older than she did before. If anything, she's looking younger, prettier, more... Glowy. How strange.

And then there's the matter of that weird language she seems to just understand, like it's her mother tongue, although she certainly does not remember learning it. 

She bends under a gigantic root and her hair, although plaited, gets caught in some spiky leaf. Actually, she thinks, fuck this. Reaching into her pocket, Ellie retrieves the knife she hid there. She lets her hair down and starts chopping it - which is not as tricky as she expected, for the blade is incredibly sharp. She cuts her hair back to its regular length, shoulder length, then uses a string of leather from her tunic and a lot of swearing and sweating to get her hair tied up into a ponytail at the back of her head.

There. Much better.

Moving forward, Ellie returns her focus to the land around her.

For a moment, she loses herself in the quiet contemplation of the jungle-like vegetation around her, when, suddenly, her whole being is filled with ice cold dread. Perplexed, Ellie looks around but sees nothing. How could she just run off, in a land probably full of infested, with nothing but a pocket knife to defend herself? The so called elves were insane, granted, but they were kind of safe. And they seemed to think she was some sort of queen, which does not hurt.

Maybe she should go back.

Go back, play their game, stay safe, figure out where the hell she is, get ready and then get out.

Ellie is debating the idea in her head when the horrible feeling of dread returns full blow, nearly knocking her off her feet.

She pulls the knife out, her eyes searching the trees. Since when is her eyesight this good? 

Clicking. Clicking! 

Ellie stumbles away, unable to determine where the clicks are coming from, but certain she needs to flee.

She runs away, completely lost, but trying to put some distance between her and the clicking. It gets louder and louder and is above her head, have they learned to climb trees?

She tries looking up, and her foot gets caught in something and she falls face first, barely catching herself. She gets to her feet, and the next thing she sees is the first thing that makes sense in this crazy place she's landed in.

An Orc.

She doesn't know how she knows, and she doesn't know why, but her mind responds to the sight and shouts Orc, shouts run, shouts fight, even shouts for Thranduil and cries out for her child. She knows Orcs. She recognises the Orc, knows its name in at least four languages she cannot recall, and she knows it means death.

It is strange, she ponders as she pulls the knife out and backs away, how this sight so evil gives her so much relief, for it is known, it is certain, it makes perfect sense, and for a split second Sîrriel knows exactly who she is.

Then the second is over, and Ellie ducks and runs as the Orc charges.

It's speaking some new language, and gradually Ellie learns that she knows that one too.

"She-elf," spits the Orc, "fresh meat!"

He's fast as a clicker, but he definitely isn't one. Ellie is now running back to where the clicking came from, but a part of her is thinking strategy. Let the Orc get caught.

The clicking is louder but does not strike, and eventually Ellie has to stop because she reaches the second thing that makes sense in this world: the poisonous swamps, the water that puts you to sleep and makes you see things. She stops right in front of it. How did she know?

Then she sees the spider webs.

Huge, white, sticky, huge, and Jesus Christ how much fucking web does a spider need??

She thinks of these pictures in travel magazines, when Riley and her used to spend hours looking through newspapers and the like, remnants of a world they had not known. There were pictures of a jungle, and pictures of a thousand tiny spiders living in colonies and building massive webs such as these.

Ellie is not afraid of spiders.

The Orc, however, stops and swears.

She throws him a confused look, which quickly morphs into a stare of horror as she sees the great black thing standing behind it. Actually, not standing, but hanging down from a tree, its eight legs all crooked and wicked, its shiny white eyes luminescent in the semi darkness, its fangs dripping with venom. The Orc follows her gaze and squeals when it sees the giant spider, swinging its sword wildly at it, cutting one leg off but getting stabbed by the dart. The spider grabs the Orc and lifts it like it weighs nothing, then spins it around and rolls it in some sticky web. Then it drops it to the ground and turns its attention to Ellie.

When the spider makes a move, Ellie's arm reacts of its own accord, projecting the pocket knife in one great throw, letting it pierce one of the spider's eyes. The monster lets out a horrifying screech, and Ellie does not wait to start running. Again.

She runs back towards where she first stumbled upon the Orc, because, to be honest, the giant spiders are worse.

There are more spiders, she realises that now, as she hears them clicking impatiently above her head, trying to get a clear shot at her, so she makes a point to make herself as unexpected as possible.

Then eventually, more Orcs appear, about a dozen, and they all growl at her when she arrives.

"Spiders!" Shouts Ellie, not slowing down.

The Orcs freeze before their yellow eyes catch sight of the monsters chasing the girl, and they set of running too, by her side.

One Orc, taller than her, gets caught. Another, to her right, is snatched. Ellie runs, and Sîrriel begs for Thranduil in her head. Then the remaining Orcs, plus Ellie, stop because they are surrounded.   
They come into a circle at the centre of the clearing they ended up in, and Ellie is handed a sword.

She has no idea how to use a sword.

She holds the thing high, with both hands, like it's a baseball bat, and prepares herself for the fight, when suddenly the Orc to her left is struck in the head by an arrow and falls to the ground, dead, and before its grey body hits the ground there are three more Orcs that receive a similar gift.

The elves fall from the trees, slide through the fallen leaves, and cut through Orcs and spiders alike with what seems like effortless efficiency.

Ellie recognises Legolas, she recognises Tauriel.

But most of all, she recognises Thranduil.

The King's hair flashes white as he slashes through all present, sending Orcish heads and spider legs flying. He's fast, and deadly, and Ellie is struck by how familiar the sight is.

How familiar it feels, to watch him fight.

What the hell?

Legolas is equally as skilled, and Tauriel has an otherworldly grace to her as she kills. But with Thranduil, it's almost as if she knows what he is going to do next, as if she knows his fighting style, she knows he is going to win because he always does.

When the fighting is over, the elves turn to her and their eyes search for any sign of injury.

"You called for me," Thranduil breaks the eerie silence of the after battle. There's desperate hope in his normally emotionless voice.

"I did?" Asks Ellie, and she's not denying it because she thinks she knows what he's talking about - the powerful cry she heard in her head when she first saw the Orc. "The Orc," she says, "I knew what it was, yet there are no such things in my world." She is surprised at her own choice of words, her own turn of phrase, slightly too formal and archaic to be purely hers. "I thought of you, I knew you would defeat it, and I feared for..." She stops, because no, no fucking way, she's not about to accept that bit yet. "My life." She concludes, refusing to look at Legolas.

All goes dark and distant around her. In the dark, something shines ahead.

There is a fine line, like a ribbon, a bright golden trend that she can almost touch, almost grasp, and maybe at the end of it there is-

"My lady?"

Ellie jumps. Her vision clears.

"My lady, will you return with us? These lands are not safe. Orcs and spiders are just the start, I am afraid." It's Gandalf, and he's watching her carefully. They're all frightened, she realises. They are scared of her reaction. They think her mad. Is she mad? Are they the sane ones? Did she dream everything? No, it cannot be. But maybe there's some sort of explanation anyways.

"Yes," says Ellie, trying to relax her posture, but not letting go of the sword. "Yes, I will. Thank you, all. I... I am sorry. It has been... I think I should give you a chance to explain." She says. "But perhaps, you also ought to hear me out too. I do not mean to insult you, but these past 24 years have not been the kindest to me, and maybe my manners are not the best." She whispers that last part at Legolas.

"Very well." Says Gandalf, ever the mediator. "I shall call for the lady Galadriel," he turns to Thranduil, "perhaps Lord Elrond and herself could join forces and help us reach into the meanders of your queen's lost memories. Perhaps we may understand her better, and her us."

After an imperceptible nod from the Elven King, the old man starts whispering in a foreign language, under his breath, and the air feels charged with some sort of unstoppable energy.

Magic.

Thranduil takes off a heavy, intricately decorated cape off his shoulders and wraps it around hers, carefully, slowly, keeping as much distance between them as physically possible. His hand offers to take the heavy Orcish blade from her but Ellie shakes her head. He retreats then, and lets Tauriel guide her back towards where they came from.

These are not people, Ellie finally accepts. And this is not Wyoming. And maybe she's not just Ellie.

She ought to start listening.


	6. Awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the word awkward takes all its meaning. Next chapter, we shall have more interactions (I listen to yous ^^ ), and we may soon start digging into what it was exactly like for Ellie prior to arriving in Middle Earth (so if you're wondering where Joel has gone off to, you shall soon find out).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not owning a thing.  
> Thanks for your support and thanks for reading if you do :)

As they enter the woodland realm again, for that is the name of that weird place, Ellie forces herself to relax, and not to go into denial and anger mode straight away.

Thranduil's kingdom seems carved into the forest itself, and the more she looks around with an open mind, the more Ellie stars to fully understand just how foreign the land is. She's never been out of the US, and before her fourteenth birthday she had never even been out of the city, but Ellie is becoming more and more persuaded that she could, in fact, be in another world. Another dimension, maybe? She used to read comics about that, but never actually considered that it could be true.

Back in Thranduil's palace, Ellie is taken to her chambers and given some new clothes to change into. She is given the chance to bathe, as well. When she takes the cape off and hands it to Thranduil, Ellie catches him staring open mouthed at her hair.

"Sorry," she mumbles sheepishly. "I just couldn't get used to it. It will grow back," she adds more assuredly.

"Yes," concedes Thranduil, though she can see he is troubled.

Eventually he seems to snap out of it, and leaves her to her bath.

About an hour later, Ellie wanders out into the halls, looking for someone. Anyone. But preferably, someone like Gandalf, or Tauriel, or even that Elrond guy, someone she's not offended too much and who will be willing to talk to her.

But of course, she stumbles upon the other two, Legolas and Thranduil.

"Oh," she says stupidly. "Sorry."

They're both bent over a large map and a few heavy books, but look up as she approaches. She waves at them and makes to turn around when Legolas calls out to her.

"Please, my lady. Do stay."

Awkwardly, Ellie shifts from one foot to another, then decides to just jump right in. She walks over and inspects the great map on the table. Weirdly, and for the first time since she's met them, the elves are purposefully avoiding to meet her eyes.

"So," she starts, "are you guys... Planning a trip?"

"No. We were merely... Trying to determine the source of the stream that runs through our woods. We always believed it to be east, but now it appears it may be in Gundabad."

From the way Legolas said the last word, Ellie guesses that he's expecting some sort of recognition from her. Unfortunately, there is none.

"Right."

"This is Gundabad. It is where you were lost to us." Says Legolas, pointing at a great grey mount on the map.

"Looks charming."

They remain silent for a moment or so, and that is already much more than Ellie can take. She is not one for silences, and simply cannot put up with leaving the elephant in the room, without poking it until it pops.

"So listen, Legolas." She turns to the elf, who actually meets her eyes long enough to give her a startled look. "I just wanted to say I am sorry, for the way I spoke to you. I reacted quite badly, and I think I may have hurt your feelings. I am sorry." He bows slightly. "I still do not remember you at all," continues Ellie, unable to stop herself. "And I still find it extremely hard to believe that I could be old enough to be your mother, but I just wanted to say that, um, you seem like a really nice guy, and I'm sure anyone would be proud to be your mom."

He seems genuinely touched by that, and bows more deeply, seemingly not trusting himself to speak. Great, well done, thinks Ellie. Now it's even more fucking awkward. She tries Thranduil, but the King is just as unsettled, looking anywhere but at her. Weird.

"And you've got books as well-" she starts.

"Where is it that you say you hail from?" Interrupts Legolas.

"America. I mean, that's the name of the land, and Wyoming is where I lived."

"Do they.... Is it a way of Wyoming to wear one's hair as such?" Legolas actually blushes, blushes, as he forms his question, and Ellie catches Thranduil giving him the darkest glare she's ever seen.

"What do you mean?" Asks Ellie, a hand absentmindedly reaching for the loose bun at the top of her head.

"Your-your neck." Actually stammers Legolas.

Oh. Ooooh. Fucking hell, is this the Middle Ages? Are they actually shocked to see a naked neck? Ellie looks at Thranduil who does meet her gaze briefly before looking down again, blinking, which is probably the closest he ever gets to being flustered.

"Sorry," says Ellie again, reaching for her hair, pulling it loose. "I hadn't realised it was so shocking. Yeah, we do wear our hair up, usually. I mean, it's just more practical. Sorry."

"It is no trouble," says Thranduil, but Ellie can see the two elves visibly relax once her oh so erotic neck is covered once again.

"So," nearly yells Ellie, trying to put all this painful awkwardness behind them. "What was it that Gandalf said? He's going to call someone?"

"The lady Galadriel," replies Thranduil. "Mithrandir believes she may help us retrieve your lost memories."

"Right. Who's Mithrandir?"

"It is another name for Gandalf."

"Right. Cool."

"Pardon?" Frowns Thranduil.

"It's cool." Repeats Ellie.

"Is it?" Thranduil actually reaches for her arm, and Ellie backs away immediately. He retracts his hand.

"No, I mean, it's cool, as in it's fine, it's ok."

"Ok?"

"Yes," Ellie is getting annoyed, now. "Ok, as in zero killed."

They both look so alarmed it should have been funny.

"It's all well." Clarifies Ellie, suddenly feeling rather exhausted. "It's good, that this Galadriel woman may be able to help us. In America, when something is good we say it is cool."

They nod slowly, exchange a not so persuaded look.

"I'm starving," cuts in Ellie. "Please could we get some food?"

About an hour or so later, all three of them are sitting together at a large table, eating lovely food and drinking the first wine Ellie has ever tasted.

"Is it not to your liking?" Questions Thranduil, seeing her pull a face. He's very gentle with her, now, and keeps his voice really quiet and calm as he speaks to her, probably because of her fearful reaction the last time his temper got the better of him in her presence.

"It is gorgeous," says Ellie. "Thank you. I've never had wine before."

"Truly?"

"Yeah. I've had whiskey."

"Whiskey?"

"Very strong wine," says Ellie, not willing to get into yet another long explanation. "Do the others not eat with us?"

"The others?"

"Yeah. Like, Tauriel, for example."

"Do you wish for Tauriel to join us?" He's positively frowning at her. Ellie meets Legolas's eyes, but he is even less helpful.

"Sure. And maybe Elrond and Gandalf. Why not?"

And the next thing, Tauriel is there, sitting opposite Ellie, looking like she's about to die. Elrond is sitting next to Thranduil, and Gandalf is next to Ellie, and everyone is acting like this is the strangest setting they've ever been in.

"So um, you said I called for you? In the woods, with the Orc and spiders and all that?"

"Yes. Your spirit called for me as you were in danger, it is how we found you when we did."

"How does that work, then?" She turns to Gandalf. "How come... How do spirits call for each other?"

"Well," starts the wizard, grabbing another piece of bread. He is the only one who seems remotely at ease. "Elves are most wondrous beings. It is known that some of them, such as the lady Galadriel, possess certain magical abilities, like wordless communication, and healing, for instance."

"Are you an elf?" Asks Ellie, which has Elrond scoffing quietly.

"No, no, my lady. I am an Istar. A wizard."

Ellie tries hard not to show how doubtful she is.

"Of course."

"However," continues the wizard, "certain abilities are common to all elves. When... When two elves are very close, their spirits connect, and they are able to call for each other, no matter how far they are."

"Close how?"

"Bonded."

"What's bonded, then?"

It's obviously the wrong question to ask, because everyone appears rather mortified, in their own way. Tauriel's eyes widen and her cheeks go red, Elrond coughs and hides behind his napkin, Legolas looks away, Gandalf looks at Thranduil and Thranduil blinks again.

"What?" Ellie asks the table.

Eventually, Gandalf is the one brave enough to answer.

"Bonded, my lady, as a husband and wife are."

"Married?"

Gandalf just stares at her for a few seconds, and Ellie finally gets it.

"Ooooh!" She exclaims. "I understand now!" Then she actually understands, and turns to Thranduil so fast her head could have come off her shoulders. "Oh."

It's her turn to go red, and she returns to her lettuce and bread.

"Well I certainly don't remember that," she says, then hears herself, and picks up her glass of wine. "Jesus." She downs the contents of it, then whispers to the silent table: "sorry."

"No," says Thranduil. "It is quite alright. Please do not feel that there are any questions you may not ask."

"Yeah," nervously laughs Ellie, "We have bonded after all, it's not like we're total strangers!" She adds sarcastically.

"Indeed." Agrees Thranduil.

"I'm so sorry," Ellie says to the others.

"It is quite alright." Says Legolas. Then, after a short pause, he adds, in a very serious tone: "it is cool."

There is a second when Ellie does believe she may manage to hold it in, but it is not to be.

Ellie bursts out laughing, because that is it, her nerves have had enough, and it's all too serious and awkward and she's really just got to laugh now. Legolas stares at her in confusion, as do the others, and Ellie laughs, laughs, until her eyes water and her sides hurt. It must be the escape Tauriel was desperately hoping for, because the elleth starts laughing too, followed by Gandalf. The other three elves look amused, they even chuckle a little bit, but for Ellie, Tauriel and Gandalf, there is no coming back.

They laugh.


	7. The Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out about Ellie's motives (and yes, they lie somewhere with Joel), and some old loony with a crystal ball does not arrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. The response to the last chapter was amazing, and I'm definitely going to answer each comment individually. It really means the world to me to know that you enjoy the story. Thank you so, so much for taking the time to read and comment.  
> Next chapter gets serious. We finally get to see where Ellie came from!

From then on, it is as if some sort of invisible wall has been broken down, and Ellie starts to feel more at ease in this new world. There is still nothing she understands, but she is no longer frightened of the elves, and they seem no longer frightened of her.

Thranduil, though, she is still very much uncomfortable around.

Finding out that this weird connection, if there really was one and it was not just luck that he found her when he did, was the result of 'bonding' is enough to persuade Ellie to avoid the King as much as possible.

This is something that Thranduil is painfully aware of, and it is added to the way she had shielded her face from him, not so long ago. She fears him, feels no connection to him or Legolas. Sometimes he even wonders what is left of his wife if anything at all.

Patience.

Despite this awareness of her noted avoidance of him, Thranduil inevitably seems to find himself seeking her out. The feeling of utter wonder, at being given the chance to simply gaze upon her beloved face again, has yet to wear off, and there is a part of Thranduil's heart which cannot help thinking that now she is returned, then all will be well, in time. 

And should she never remember him, well, he's won her heart once. Surely he can do it twice.

One morning, Thranduil finds himself wandering into his wife's bedchambers, under the pretence of bringing her some fresh fruit. He finds her standing by the window, her eyes staring into nothing. She is wearing her hair up, and once again Thranduil is unexpectedly moved and stirred by the sight of her bare neck. His first reaction is to advert his eyes, but she has not seen him yet, and the King feels bold enough to let his gaze wander and caress the exposed skin.

How strange, he ponders, how after all the intimacy they have shared over the centuries, his beloved still finds a way to surprise him with new ways of provoking his arousal. It is done unwittingly, too, and Thranduil just stares, until his eyes follow the curve of her shoulder, her arm, until he realises that said arm is uncovered. Sîrriel's right arm is exposed, and her left hand is posed upon it, as she looks into nothing, lost in thought.

The bite mark.

Thranduil takes a step forward and makes sure his feet drag on the floor, to audibly announce his presence to her. She jumps nonetheless.

"Forgive me," he whispers. 

She hurriedly reaches to untie her hair, and then attempts to cover her arm.

"Is this where you were..." He cannot bring himself to say it out loud.

"Um, yeah." 

"May I see?"

After a short hesitation, she extends her arm to him. He takes a step forward and notes that she inches back ever so slightly. Her beautiful arm is marred, half moon shapes of white scarred skin follow the pattern of a grown man's teeth.

"I was fourteen," she tells him.

Thranduil does not know what the ages of men represent, for a fourteen year old elf would be an extremely young child, but Sîrriel unexpectedly reveals more information about the scar, and Thranduil is able to draw a picture without pestering her.

"I was out of the base, which was like this camp where they kept us, the non infected children. I went out into the city with a friend, and we got attacked. We both got bitten. We.... We decided not to kill ourselves. We decided to wait it out, and just become infected together. I think I fell asleep, and when I woke up, she was gone, and I was still me."

"What became of the man who bit you?"

"We killed him."

"That is well. Although, I would have wished to have removed each tooth individually first..."

"It's not like that." He senses tiredness in her tone. "He was already dead, in a way. He wasn't himself at all. Pretty sure it was a woman, actually, come to think of it."

He keeps silent for a moment, thinking carefully about his next question. This is the most she has allowed him to speak with her in weeks.

"What of your parents?" Asks Thranduil. 

"I didn't have any."

He resists the urge to tell her that she did, in fact, have parents, and that he himself had known them well,before they departed west. They had left after her disappearance.

"The other week," he says, before he has properly considered his words. This is a matter that has plagued him for weeks. "You hid yourself from me, as if you feared I would strike you."

"Yes."

"Do you fear that I could strike you, my lady?"

"Yes." She's barely hesitated, and he suspects that what little hesitation she has shown is caused by her fear of his reaction rather than by genuine doubt. He's expected that answer, yet still, it stuns and wounds him.

"Never," he whispers, begging silently. "Never would I raise a hand on you."

Surely she must know this!

"I don't know you," she justifies, embarrassed. "I clearly made you really angry."

"You could never anger me so much that I would strike you, melleth. It would destroy my very s-" Then, a sickening thought reaches him and his whole being feels cold and distant. "Have you been struck before?"

She's startled at the question, nods hesitantly.

"By whom?"

"I don't know."

"You do not know?"

"Well I quickly stopped counting!" She replies, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Many people."

"Men?"

"Yes. Amongst others. Who hasn't been hit before? " She's feeling cornered, maybe misunderstanding the direction of his ire. She turns away from him, and Thranduil forces himself to let the matter go.

For now.

"What happened after you were bitten?" He asks, thinking of something Gandalf had said about her immunity attracting her much attention before.

"A lot." She replies, then quickly changes topic. "When will that lady arrive?"

"Galadriel?"

"Yes, her."

"Within a fortnight, I assume."

"Will she help me get my memories back?" 

Her docility appears very suspicious to him, but he chooses to humour her, cautiously so.

"It is a possibility. The lady Galadriel has a mirror, and she has certain powers. She can sometimes show things that were, are, or have yet to pass. She may be able to show you fragments of your past, and it is mine and Legolas' hope that this will trigger other memories to resurface."

Sîrriel nods, covers her arm.

"What if she... Do you think she might show us memories I have not lost? Like, from the world I'm from? This way you may understand me too," she adds, like she's prepared that conversation, and Thranduil nods carefully, sensing there is more.

"Do you think..." Starts Sîrriel. Ellie. "Do you think that she might be able to show us the place I came from? As in, right now? And we could see what was happening there, right there and then?"

Ah. Here it is. There is the reason for her sudden compliance.

"I cannot say that she will," says Thranduil, "but I cannot say that she won't."

"What if she can do that? What if she can show us? Do you think... That we might be able to talk with people there?"

He frowns at this. 

"You wish to speak with people from that wretched world?"

"I don't see why that's so shocking."

"I suppose it shocks me you would wish to use the lady Galadriel's gift as a means of reaching to people who are not your husband and son." He regrets his words immediately. "Forgive me. I fear my patience may be strained." The thought of her being struck by "many men" has severely damaged his ability to think coherently.

"Can I not want to do both?"

And really, can she not?

"Perhaps. Please do forgive my words, Sîrriel, I simply... Do not wish to share you, so soon after your return."

"It's Ellie."

He says nothing to that, and eventually there is nothing left to do than take his leave.

A fortnight feels a very long time to Ellie. Once she's figured out where the witch lady would be coming from, Ellie struggles to get herself away from that spot. There's a voice in her head, and it sounds a lot like Joel's, suggesting to her that maybe this whole thing is a lie. Maybe there is no lady Galadriel, and if there is, maybe it's just some old loony with a crystal ball.

Joel.

What she's not told anyone just yet, is that Ellie died whilst looking for him. Joel had gone hunting and he'd never returned, and after three days, Ellie had decided to go after him. Maria and Tommy had tried dissuading her, of course, but they also had known that it was pointless. Joel was out there, perhaps hurt, perhaps lost, perhaps dead or worse, but he was out there, and Ellie would find him.

She did not find him.

She found a horde and a cliff, instead.

Ellie has not lied, she is indeed curious to see if anyone can actually show her images of herself that would prove that she has been Sîrriel, at some point. She highly doubts it possible, but some signs are hard to ignore. There is the 'calling' of Thranduil whilst in danger, and there is also this strange sense of recognition that she felt when she saw him fight. She saw him and she knew his moves, knew he would win, she trusted him to. For a brief second, she'd also feared for a child that was not there, and although she had managed to dismiss the thought at first, it gnawed at her now, made her question everything. Plus of course, she's surrounded by elves, she looks like one of them, and everything about this world is different to hers. It's becoming harder and harder to remain in denial.

But it is also true that, should Galadriel indeed have the power to show another world through Ellie's memories, the young woman would also hope to be able to show Thranduil where exactly she came from. Firstly, it would prove to everyone that she was not, in fact, completely insane, and secondly, perhaps they would then understand her fear and her lack of propriety per se. Thranduil had been shocked that Ellie would expect a punch from him, and she is eager to let him see that yes, she'd been hit before, and that she'd hit back just as hard. It is not that big a deal.

Then there is the third reason behind Ellie's eagerness to meet Galadriel, and this has all to do with Joel, and Maria, and Tommy. Ellie was living with them at the time of her death, and she'd died searching for Joel. Now Ellie doubts she could ever return to them, but she has to know, she has to find out, did Joel return? Is he alright?  
Is there any way at all she could let them all know she was well, but just stuck somewhere in space and time?

Is there any way at all that she could...go back?

Is she dreaming this whole thing? Is she lying in a ditch somewhere, in a coma, dreaming this world? Yet she's definitely feeling the wind in her hair and she hears the rustling of leaves and everything feels real... Has she dreamt the world before?

She cannot have done. The bite is there to remind her of that. She's not crazy.

Ellie is torn away from her musings by the sound of a horn being blown.  
She stands.

A great number of horses are making their way over, and on them are tall, fair beings with very long hair and flowy robes. More elves. 

The gates shut behind them, and one elf with silver hair and silver robes dismounts before offering his hand to a woman.

No, not a woman. A lady. The lady. And she is no old loony with a crystal ball.

Galadriel's hair is pure gold, and it reaches her knees. Her dress is white and her eyes are a deep dark blue, with stars in the centre.

She is taller than most men, and there is something both terrifying and beautiful about her.

She floats more than walks to Ellie, and Ellie suddenly feels a warm and protective presence standing by her side. Thranduil.

"Queen Sîrriel," says Galadriel, her voice much deeper than Ellie was expecting. "I have dreamt of your return for so long. It is a pleasure to see the Valar have finally returned you to your kin." She frowns, her gaze becoming uncertain. "But you are not fully here, a great shadow is over your thoughts. I hope my magic will help us return your light to you."

She smiles at Thranduil, and Legolas, who has appeared by Ellie's left. Her eyes wander up to Lord Elrond and Gandalf who are making their way over.

"Let us begin."


	8. Little Leaf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First look into Ellie/Sîrriel's memories. Poor Legolas just cannot catch a break, can he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this nonsense :) means a lot to me.

This is the most focused Ellie has ever been. 

She does all the lady tells her to do, sometimes spending hours sitting down, eyes closed, trying to centre all her energy around memories lost. Galadriel tells her to hold on to that feeling she felt when she called for Thranduil, and that this is the link that will eventually help her reach other memories. Ellie agrees.

Except, of course, she's secretly focusing all her thoughts towards memories she's not lost. Memories of Joel. 

Thranduil wants to believe her, and if not, he wants to be patient, but he cannot escape the feelings of bitterness and sorrow and just pure and painful longing that grip at his heart as he watches his wife medidate from his position up on the balcony. Lord Elrond, lady Galadriel, Legolas and Gandalf are up there with him, most of them seated at the great table. 

"Your wife is not much changed," whispers Galadriel, having silently glided over to him. "Simply...younger. Severely scarred. That mark on her arm is only the gentlest of them all."

"What happened?"

It seems impossible for Thranduil to believe that Eru could put his Sîrriel, the kindest,most caring soul there is, in such a dreadful world. Yet she is also the bravest soul he knows, and perhaps the Valar thought that if there was indeed an elleth strong enough to survive such an ordeal, it would be Sîrriel.  
Secretly, Thranduil also wishes to shed light upon her disappearance. He'd returned from battle, discovering his babe left behind, and his wife gone to Gundabad. No letter, nothing. The rescue mission organised to retrieve her from Gundabad ended with his face and left side scarred forever, and still, there had been no sign of her. No body, nothing. Only the horse, she'd left behind to run home once she'd reached the fortress.

"Much has happened," says Galadriel, "in such a short time."

"Show me," orders Thranduil. "I wish to witness it for myself."

They begin about a week later.

Galadriel and Celeborn have brought jugs of water from her mirror, which is in fact not a mirror put a source of magic water Galadriel uses to show things to people, if Ellie understands correctly.  
They fill a large but hollow recipient at the centre of the council room, and get Ellie to sit on the floor and dip her hands in it. She hesitates, but one imperceptible nod from Thranduil is all it takes for her to sit on the floor like a fool with her hands in the water and a load of tall elves standing above her.

"Close your eyes," commands Galadriel, sitting opposite her. "And show us the land you were banished to"

Ellie shuts her eyes, squares her shoulders and takes a deep breath. For a while, nothing happens, but then a wave hits Ellie's face and then it grabs it and it pulls her under water.

In truth she has not moved, simply drifted into a deep mediation state, and Thranduil watches as the water mirrors his wife's only memories, ones he has not shared with her.

They see her as a little human girl, lining up with other children as guards of some sort shout at them to stand still. They see her a little bit older, looking defeated, sitting on the floor with a dark skinned girl. They have both been bitten. There's a glow coming from that girl, like she's the sunshine of Ellie's life.

"Let's just lose our minds together," they decide.

Then the water shifts again, and his Sîrriel is adult, she is wearing clothes that reveal her arms and shoulders and the shape of her behind. There is a blade at her hip, a bag on her back, topped by a bow and a quiver, and in her arms is some sort of black and wooden... Tube? Musical instrument? She holds it close to her as she walks. She's tense, looking around, listening, her brows furrowed. She walks until she reaches some sort of house, except it is rather tall compared to the houses of Men the elves are used to. Then, Sîrriel lifts the black thing until it is in line with her eye and walks in, pointing the end of it forward.

She checks each room carefully, only relaxing once it is clear no one is home. It is evident that someone does come home sometimes, as there is some food around. Sîrriel, or rather, Ellie, puts her black tube down and opens her bag. She starts shoving the food in there, as well as some little pieces of metal, uniform and pointy, that had been left on the table. The elves' keen ears hear the voices before she does.

"Shit!" 

Sîrriel dips down, her eyes searching for an exit. She grabs her things and tries to make it to a back door, not quite in time. A man appears at the door and Sîrriel lifts the back tube and the end of it explodes. The man drops dead, his head a mushy red mess, and Sîrriel tries to step over his body and run, but a second man,much bigger than the first, walks in and knocks the black tube thing out of her hands.

The rest is so painful to watch that Thranduil has to resist the urge to be sick. Legolas' expression gets darker by the second, Elrond looks horrified and Gandalf shakes his head in bewilderment. Celeborn's hand reaches his wife's shoulder, but Galadriel is the only one not to show surprise.  
The man and Sîrriel fight, brutally, cruelly, and the queen of Mirkwood is kicked, punched, her hair is pulled, insanities are yelled in her face and still she fights back, hitting back, kicking back, biting even, and eventually winning, by stabbing the man's neck with a little pocket knife she's pulled from her shoe. Once it is over, Sîrriel is blue and red. She remains seated on the floor, catching her breath. She lets out a little laugh of relief. Then she picks up her things, loots the dead men's bodies, and leaves.

They watch her walk through a forest, very different to Mirkwood, with tall skinny trees, and they watch her use her bow to kill an infected human before it has chance to see her. She retrieves the arrow. Eventually Sîrriel reaches a great wooden gate and knocks on it, three short times, two slow times, and another four short times. The gates open and another human, a blond woman, more aged then Sîrriel, gasps at the sight of her and pulls her into the safety of the hide.

Later, the woman, Maria, is tending to Sîrriel's injuries.

"My gosh, he must have been a big fellow," says Maria.

"Yeah." Croaks Sîrriel.

"I told you it's best not to scavenge alone," says a man sitting nearby. 

Thranduil is confused. Are these her parents? Sîrriel told him she had no parents in that world. Not parents, then. Friends? Kin?

Then a second man walks in, and even through the haze of the memory it is clear to all watching that this man means a lot to Sîrriel.

He's tall, older, and looks like he's seen many battles and is not easily stirred. When he walks into the room and Sîrriel sees him, it is as if the light is warmer, and some of the tension in her shoulders goes. He glows in her eyes, like the dark skinned girl had done.

"What happened?" Asks the man.

"Nothing," says Sîrriel. "Just two guys in some house. I killed them. And I got lots of cool stuff too!" She points at the bag, but the man is not impressed. His expression is serious, disapproving. A father?

"I told you not to go alone."

"Does it matter? I won."

"It's not a game, Ellie. This is life and death."

Sîrriel looks down, chastisised. 

"Sorry, Joel."

There is something in his wife's voice as she says the man's name that Thranduil does not like.

After a moment's silence, Joel takes the piece of cloth from Maria's hand. Maria and the other man exchange a look and leave, and Joel starts tending to Sîrriel's injuries himself. Thranduil watches the exchange keenly, trying to determine the exact nature of the relationship between the two. Everything suggests that they have known each other for a long time, or that they have been through a great many ordeals together. Perhaps both. Joel carefully cleans each wound on Sîrriel's face, and although there is a certain gentleness to his touch, Thranduil fails to discern any romantic tenderness. 

When Sîrriel looks up, however, that is where his heart truly breaks.

She meets the man's eyes, and the warmth shining in the light green pools is full of ambiguity. It is subtle, though, and Thranduil only recognises that look for he used to be at the receiving end of it. Joel, the man, must sense it too, probably before Sîrriel even does so herself, for his own expression hardens and he looks away from her.

"Get yourself cleaned up." He mumbles before walking away.

The water blurs agains 

"Where is he!" Shouts Sîrriel.

"He'll be back soon," responds the other man.

"Tommy, he's been gone for three days. Three days! He said he'd be a couple of hours at most."

Sîrriel is pacing the room, throwing regular looks out the window. It must be winter, for she is wearing much thicker clothes and her breath comes out in little white puffs.

"I'm going after him." Decides Sîrriel.

"That's not what he'd want you to do, kid."

"I don't care."

The image goes again, and a tear appears just under Sîrriel's eye. A series of images mix together in a sickening blend of colours and sounds.

"That'll be enough for today," says Thranduil, sensing his wife's exhaustion.

"Father, wait!"

Legolas has stepped forward, his eyes widening at the sight in front of him.

The water has stilled long enough to reveal another memory, very blurred but there nevertheless.

Sîrriel is sitting on the marital bed, in Mirkwood, alone except for the baby in her arms. She is crying, kissing the baby's face, his cheeks, his nose, his little hands.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers, "I'm so sorry, my love, my little leaf."

Then Sîrriel, the present one, the one sitting down by Galadriel's mirror, cries out and shakes her head and struggles to open her eyes. The memory blurs and disappears.

Galadriel cries out as well and Celeborn falls to her side, gathering her in his arms.

Ellie's eyes flutter open and fall onto Thranduil's face, very close to hers, his hair spilling around her head. She realises that she's collapsed to the floor and sits up, unconsciously holding on to his arms to steady herself. Her eyes search for Galadriel and she meets the lady's blue gaze.

"This is good," says Ellie, suddenly hit by how tired she is. "You saw plenty."

"And what of which you saw, my lady?" Asks Galadriel.

"The woman and the baby? It might not have been me. The image was very blurred."

Ellie avoids looking at them all as she says that, but her tone is less than confident and no one judges necessary to argue with her.

They all know what they saw, and so does she.

Legolas, thinks Ellie, like an epiphany. Legolas means green leaf.

Her little leaf.

She remembers loving a child, loving them more than her life.

But she cannot, no, she cannot acknowledge that love, and its implications, not until she knows, not until she finds out about Joel.

"It could have been anyone," she repeats, standing up.

She moves out of Thranduil's arms.

"Anyone at all."

For a second there, she manages to convince herself, and she walks out of the room.

She also almost manages to ignore the look of hurt on Legolas' and Thranduil's faces.

Almost.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nice, gentle conversation between two elleths, before we get to see a lot more of your favourite King. Wink wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry for the insane delay in posting. Thank you so much for sticking with this crazy concept of a story, and thank you for your comments, ultimately they are what motivated me to carry on.
> 
> That, and OH MY GOD THE TRAILER THE TRAILER DID YOU SEE THE TRAILER???!!

Where to go from here?

Ellie has managed to see memories of Joel, and that is her first link to him since landing in this strange place, yet the brief glimpse she's had at herself holding a child, and the abrupt memory of that all consuming love for Legolas has shaken her to the core.

What is she supposed to do? She wants to reach Joel, but what if she gets attacked by more memories from Sîrriel?

She knows the elves are desperate to speak to her again and probably get her to have another go, so Ellie actively avoids them, to the point of hiding behind trees and bookshelves. Legolas is the one she avoids the most, though Thranduil comes a close second.

One afternoon, approximately two or three days later, Ellie is finally found by an elf, tough not one she expected to be looking for her. She is in the gardens, half crouching behind a rose bush, when a melodic voice rings right behind her.

"My lady," says Tauriel as she appears out of nowhere.

"Jesus, Tauriel, you made me jump so hard!"

"My apologies," bows the elleth. And she straightens up again, but plays with her hands and looks left and right, obviously embarrassed.

"Can I help you?" Eventually offers Ellie.

Tauriel looks like a rabbit caught in headlights, but she is brave, and Ellie can actually see the elleth steeling herself and finding her resolve. That's why she rather likes Tauriel, Ellie suddenly realises, because she's the only elf who shows her emotions. She's the most human of them all.

"I was hoping to speak to you, my lady, if it isn't too much to ask."

"Sure," shrugs Ellie, throwing a suspicious look behind the elleth.

"I am alone," offers Tauriel. "King Thranduil and my lord Legolas are both training I believe."

"Oh." Ellie pretends not to be relieved at this.

"I wish to speak to you about the memories you showed us, from your previous world. I... I must say I was most surprised by them."

"Ok?"

Tauriel gestures for them to walk over to a lovely fountain, where they both sit. It is quiet, and their presence is shielded by thick rose bushes and other fragrant flowers and foliage.

"What do you want to talk about?" Asks Ellie, making an effort to sound gentle.

"I wish to ask- that is, I could not help but notice- and your hair...!"

"My hair?" 

Ellie raises a hesitant hand to the short locks grazing her shoulder blades.

"I-" Tauriel huffs, looks around in frustration. "Forgive me, my lady, I am not the most gifted when it comes to conversation."

"Don't worry, me neither. It's quite refreshing really."

Tauriel is beautiful, thinks Ellie. Her hair is out of this world, her voice is lovely, her nose is delicate and her eyes are a deep green. She notices what she believes may be the elvish equivalent of freckles dusting her cheeks and nose. Tauriel smiles graciously.

"You are most different from what I imagined you to be." She says, then blushes at how inappropriate her statement was. 

"Is it the hair?" Teases Ellie, successfully dissipating the awkwardness in the air.

"It is short." Agrees Tauriel. "Do women wear their hair short? In the world you came from?"

"Yes. Anything from waist to fully shaved is perfectly fine, where I come from. Men very rarely have hair beyond this length," she shows Tauriel what would be a slightly overgrown short male hairstyle. The elleth nods, eyes wide in her amazement.

"And... We saw you fight. A man struck you. We saw you...dressed in a masculine way. You spoke to men as if they were your equals."

"Yeah. Every woman dresses like that, where I'm from, especially I think since the epidemic. Everyone needs to learn to defend themselves, otherwise you really don't last long. It doesn't matter if you're a man or a woman. We're all equal. It wasn't always like that, so I guess that's kind of a good thing about the end of the world. It set everyone straight on the stupidity of gender roles. What's it like here? Are you not equal to men?"

"Amongst elves, hierarchy depends on blood rank, not gender. The lady Galadriel is superior to me, but also to Legolas. Thranduil is her equal, and so are you. Although, she possesses a ring of power, which gives her even more leverage. Elrond is beneath Thranduil and Legolas, but above me, despite his mixed blood."

"Mixed blood?"

"He is part human." Explains Tauriel. "I was surprised at what I saw, because, having been raised by Men, I assumed you would have followed their customs. Gender is an important matter to them."

"I see. Well, where I'm from, it doesn't matter anymore if you're a man or a woman, and we have no royalty. It's all about survival skills."

"Did your immunity not grant you a higher status?"

"No." Sighs Ellie. "It made me a target. At first, we thought I could be the key to curing this disease and getting the world back to what it was, so we travelled, Joel and I, to meet with people who could make a cure. But then we got there, it turned out there had been many like me, and no one could work out a cure."

Tauriel frowns.

"Many like you? How is that possible?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your immunity was the result of your elvish blood, at least that is what Gandalf believes. How could there be many like you? As far as we know, you were the only elf cast away to that land."

"I don't know. Joel said there were many immune people, and that it hadn't done anyone any good."

Tauriel looks away, visibly unconvinced. 

"Was Joel the man who helped you? The one you went searching for when he disappeared?"

"Yes."

"Was he your father?"

"No. Yes. Kind of. He started looking after me when I was fourteen."

"You must miss him dearly. Did you ever find out what became of him?"

"No," replies Ellie in a broken whisper. "But I will."

Thankfully, Tauriel knows to leave the conversation there, and the two of them sit in silence for a while.

"I lost the one I loved," abruptly confesses the elleth.

"You did?"

"Yes. He died in battle, before I even had chance to tell him how I felt for him."

"What was his name?" Ellie is not one for sensitive conversations, and she asks the question hoping it is the right thing to do.

"Kili."

"That's not a very elvish name. Shouldn't it be something like Kilolas, or Kiluil?"

Tauriel does smile at that.

"He was not an elf. He was a dwarf. Elves and Dwarves have been enemies as far as I can remember."

"He must have been quite the heartthrob if he managed to make you overlook that!"

"Well...yes," blushes Tauriel. "Quite."

"What was he like?"

"Kind. Brash. Reckless, brave. Funny." Tauriel's eyes grow misty and her voice breaks, so Ellie decides to significantly lighten the mood.

"Gosh, he sounds awful. Why would you go for a brave and kind man when you can have a stone cold elf with a broom up their butt?"

This has the intended effect, as Tauriel gasps in shock and covers her mouth in either horror or guilty amusement. Probably both. Ellie laughs at her.

"Ok, but seriously though, Tauriel, I think you're not being totally honest with me."

"My lady, I would never dare...!"

"You said gender doesn't matter to elves. But as far as I can see, you're the only woman who fights. All the other elf ladies I've seen just seem to float around in a big dress. You're the only one with knives."

"It is true, I suppose. It is fairly rare for an elleth to wish to fight. In fact," Tauriel leans in to add: "it is even frowned upon by some."

"Some like Thranduil?" Ellie whispers back, and is surprised when Tauriel shakes her head emphatically.

"Oh no, Thranduil is very forward in that matter. He was the one to allow elleths to climb up in ranks in the guard. Some lands have no female warriors at all. They do not even train them. It was a slightly scandalous decision when he announced it, some centuries ago."

"What made him do it?"

"It was you, I believe. At least that is what I have heard."

"Was I a warrior?"

Tauriel shrugs, then gives her a little smile, a slightly mischevious glint in her eye.

"I cannot seem to recall, my lady. Perhaps you ought to ask Thranduil. I know he would rejoice in a such a chance."

"And what chance would this be, Tauriel?" A deep, authoritative voice booms above them, and Ellie jumps. Tauriel doesn't look phased at all.

"The lady Sîrriel was wondering about her life prior to becoming queen of Mirkwood." She answers. She'd known he was there, she'd obviously heard him approach, and she'd not said a word to Ellie!

Ellie narrows her eyes at the elleth. The cheeky, sneaky little...!

The Elvenking bows softly.

"I would indeed very much appreciate such a chance, my lady. If you would let me, I would gladly tell you all about your past, and how you knocked me to the ground on our very first meeting."

"I did what?"

In place of an answer, Thranduil extends his hand to her, a clear invitation to come walk with him. Ellie hesitates, knowing full well that she is being played. Both elves have just hinted at something about her that they knew she would be unable to resist hearing about. Tauriel is looking as calm and composed as ever, and Thranduil even sports a barely concealed smirk. 

Fine, Ellie thinks. They've won this round.

She gets up, ignores Thranduil's hand and starts walking ahead, not too fast.

Soon enough she hears him follow.


	10. A Stroll in the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil and Ellie have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hum hum*
> 
> Oh hello there, very sorry for the wait! In my defence, I did give birth.
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with this weird story, I am going to reply to all comments now, thank you so , so much for taking the time!
> 
> It isn't abandoned, but with being a new parent I am finding it hard to find the time to write. Thank you so much for reading!

Walking along with the Elven King is not a pleasant experience. He's so tall, and his legs are so long, even with his slow and calm pace it's still impossible for Ellie to ignore the fact that he'd probably best her in a fight. Close to the surface of her mind is the memory of him yelling in her face, then slicing through orcs like it was no challenge.

They're walking along yet another woodsly path, and Ellie still has not managed to get used to her heightened hearing. Every noise makes her jump, and she's constantly looking anxiously around for the source or every twig breaking and leaf rustling.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" She asks Thranduil at some point.

"I was saying this is essentially how ellith of Mirkwood came to be allowed access to the guard." Thranduil says in his deep voice, watching her very intently. "Is something frightening you, my lady?"

Ellie tears her eyes away from the forest edge.

"It's fine, I just... I keep hearing noises. I'm just checking it's not some runners or clickers or something."

"Runners?"

"Yeah. The people that are infected,you know? The freshly infected ones, they can run. Then the clickers are the ones with fungi all over their bodies, and they make this noise.." She produces a perfect imitation of a clicker. "Anyway. I'm just checking it's not an infected lurking around in the woods."

"So far," says Thranduil after a moment of thoughtful silence, "we have heard six birds, two rabbits, a deer and a fawn, and Moran, one of my guards. This is him again." He says, after a twig is heard breaking in the distance, in the darkness of the woods. "He ought to be quieter. There are no infected here."

"How do you know?" Asks Ellie. "You can't know for sure."

"There are no infected here." Repeats Thranduil, looking at her in the eyes. She can tell he's trying to reassure her. He's not very expressive, and not as expressive as Tauriel, but he's certainly one of the easiest to read amongst the elves she's met so far. He's probably considered to have a hot temper here, she guesses. "You are perfectly safe, Sî... Ellie. No harm shall come to you in these woods."

Or anywhere else, as long as I live, he nearly adds, but it would be untrue, as harm has already come to her despite his best efforts to keep her safe.

He is again torn by the sheer need to hold her to him, to feel her warmth and life and light and know she is here, his heart constricting painfully in his chest and throat tightening as he gazes upon his wife, returned, but partly so.

Ellie is not aware of this, she is still reacting to the slightest noise, searching around until she finds its source.

"So," she starts again, still not looking at him. "How did I die, exactly?"

The question is so abrupt. So human. Thranduil takes a second to recover from the shock of it. Ellie has given him her full attention now, though, and he is keen not to disappoint.

"It remains somewhat a mystery." Unable to hold her gaze as he speaks of the single most painful event of his life, Thranduil resumes walking,and she follows. "I found a note by Legolas's cot, which told me that you had left for the Orc stronghold and that there was something you needed to do there. You were urging me not to follow you."

"What did you do?"

"I followed you." He takes a deep breath. "We found your horse wandering near the stronghold, greatly agitated. No sign of you. We searched the place and killed all the orcs we could see. And still, there was no trace of you. You never returned, but we never found... We never found your body."

"Perhaps I never died," murmurs Ellie, scowling. "Perhaps I went through some sort of portal, and ended up where I came from... If that makes sense."

"The Istar believes it is your passing, first in this world, then the next, which allowed you to travel between the two."

"The Istar?"

"Gandalf."

"Right."

They remain quiet for a little while, and it is easy to imagine that everything has gone back to normal, until she speaks again.

"I've never had children," she tells him, somewhat hesitantly, "but I'm sure that I wouldn't have left my baby unless it was absolutely necessary. I mean, I don't know Sîrriel, but I'm sure she was a decent woman. Elf. She-elf."

"Elleth," corrects Thranduil, not unkindly, "and you were the most decent soul there ever was. Still are. I never doubted nor resented you for what happened." Feeling emboldened, he continues, watching her reaction carefully: "your love for Legolas was all encompassing. Before he was born, you already had such strong affection for him, and I knew that for you to be leaving him so soon after birth must have meant this was the safest decision to make for him."

The girl, Ellie, shows the faintest hint of a blush at his words, and turns away, scowling yet again. Fidgeting, eyes searching for a distraction, Thranduil knows she is about to take her leave from him. Not so fast, he thinks.

"You must know," he insists. "What you saw in the mirror, a mother nursing a child, you must know it was you."

"It was Sîrriel," she claps back. "Not me."

"You are Sîrriel."

"You must know," she argues, reflecting his own words at him. "What you saw in the mirror, a girl fighting and killing men, that that girl cannot possibly have anything to do with your lady wife."

"Quite the contrary," Thranduil steps closer to her, tone almost begging. "I saw a noble, loyal, brave soul. Had Sîrriel been born mortal and in a land overruled by a cruel disease, this is what she would have had to do. You were always brave, Sîrriel, you were always willing to fight, and do what must be done. It is you."

She backs away, eyes betraying how intimidated she is. There had been a time when his wife would revel in his imposing stature, stepping closer to him and sighing softly when he embraced her, and Thranduil feels the rejection so acutely it hurts his heart. There had been a time when his height and shoulder width excited her, but this time is well and truly over. Now she sees him as a threat.

Ellie shakes her head, annoyed, frustrated, and her hand goes to her ear and feels the pointed tip absentmindedly.

"This is insane," she whispers, more to herself than for his benefit. "Insane. Maybe the cold water knocked me out and I'm going to wake up soon, and all this will have been a dream."

He shivers at her words, panic and dread gripping his heart. What if, indeed, this was all a dream?

Desperate to prove to himself and to her that she is here, alive, Thranduil reaches out and lets his hand settle on her shoulder. The warmth of her skin immediately crosses the fabric of her tunic and he feels it, relief flooding his soul at the sensation. It's her warmth, it's her, his Sîrriel, she is here and alive and all he has to do is reach for her. Ellie stands frozen, looking at him, but not moving back. It is too hard to resist, and Thranduil feels his hand move of its own accord and travel up to her face, cupping it, feeling the incredibly soft and warm skin under his palm. His thumb strokes across her freckles as he stands there, transfixed, until Ellie hits his arm off of her face with all her might.

She steps back, rubs her face with her sleeve like his touch tainted her.

"I think I've had enough walking for today," she tells him, before turning away and heading back to where he'd found her.

"It is no dream," he tells her, he tells the both of them. "It is no dream."

She walks away from him, and Thranduil stares after her, his hand still burning, deliciously so. His arm throbs a bit where she's hit him, and it makes him smile. It makes him smile.

 

Over the next few days she avoids him. The next he sees of her is when they all return to Galadriel's mirror, seeking to witness more of Sîrriel's strange past. Tauriel is present, at Sîrriel's request. The captain is trying to act as if she has no eagerness to watch the memories unfold, but Thranduil is no dupe.

His wife kneels and puts her hands into the water. Galadriel does so too. It begins.

As expected, Sîrriel stirs the memories to the world where she came from, instead of seeking to remember her time as en elf and the reasons behind her decision to abandon Legolas.

She's young, not yet a grown woman. Joel is with her. They appear to be hunting.

The black tube weapon is on her back, but Ellie is holding a bow, arrow drawn as she aims at a rabbit. Her breathing is loud though, human, and the rabbit runs before she can shoot. Ellie swears, and Joel chuckles.

"Alright kid, that's enough. Let's go."

They both stand. They're in a forest, and it must be Autumn time, judging by the red and brown leaves scattered around them.

"I had him," groans Ellie.

"Yeah, for like a second."

"I've got a rabbit," says a voice. "I can give it to you if you want."

The two humans jump, and so do the elves, because no one had noticed this man who has suddenly appeared out of nowhere. He's covered in what appears to be soil, or something more sinister, and he is holding a rabbit by the neck. The poor animal is jerking around as hard as it can.  
The man's wild eyes are open, red, unnatural. He looks diseased. Insane.

"No thanks, buddy," says Joel as Ellie inches closer to him, her eyes fixed on the intruder and her hands gripping firmly on her bow. "You keep it."

"I'll give it to you," insists the man, walking closer to them. "I have a lot. I just want an hour with your girl in exchange."

"That's not going to happen."

"Just an hour. I won't damage her. You can have her back."

"How about I damage your fucking face?" Snaps Ellie. "Or shoot you in your fucking balls, motherfucker?"

"Language!" Joel says to Ellie, before drawing his weapon and pointing it at the man's head. "Not going to happen. Now go."

"We should kill him." Says Ellie.

"Just leave."

The man stares at them for what feels like an eternity, before disappearing into the forest.

The image blurs, and when it clarifies again, Ellie is sitting by a river, shoulders exposed, trousers rolled up. Her eyes are closed as she enjoys the sunshine.

"You're beautiful."

It's the man again. Ellie jumps up and turns to face him. She's weaponless.  
"I like how your trousers go around your ass," he tells her. "Your breasts look good too."

"Joel!" Shouts Ellie into the forest. Her eyes search for a weapon.

"I'm good at hunting rabbits, you know. I can feed you."

"I think we already told you no." She replies. "Fuck off."

"Language," he says, smiling to reveal a set of bad teeth.

Joel arrives at that point, and punches the man in the head. The man falls to the ground and cowers as Joel repeatedly kicks and punches him.

"I think I told you to fuck off," says Joel, standing back up. 

"That freak was watching me," says Ellie, as she walks over to the man with a small back tube weapon in her hand. She points it at the man's head and he immediately starts crying and begging for his life.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please I'm sorry, I'll go away, I'll go, please..."

Ellie looks up at Joel.

"Your call, kiddo." He says.

"Please, please let me go, I won't watch you again I promise."

"Too late."

Her finger twitches around the weapon and there is a large bang.

The man's head explodes in red mist and the body falls to the ground. Some of the blood has splattered on Ellie's trousers and top.

"He would have followed us again," she says, cold, before moving away and gathering her things. "We should have killed him the first time."

Joel stares after her with a sad but resigned look in his eyes.

This is intended to me, realises Thranduil. She wants to shock me. Little does she know, I would have done to this man a thousand worse things than a quick painless death.

Another memory forms in the water, and this time it is a drunk Sîrriel, very drunk indeed, falling off a chair as she laughs so much her whole body shakes. The other woman, Maria, is sitting opposite her and is laughing equally as hard. There is a bottle of what looks like brown wine on the table between the two of them.

"I swear to you!" Yells Maria, while Sîrriel is holding on to her belly. "It was the height of fashion! All these young men walking around with their underwear poking out from the trousers, and the trousers really low down." She wipes away some tears. "And once I get this call about shop lifting, some little guy who doesn't want to pay for a milkshake or something, and I get there and the boy sees me and he's like 'oh, shit' and then he tries to-he tries to-" she laughs and slaps her hand on the table a few times, and Sîrriel is doing the same. "He tries to run and-and...!"

Maria never finishes her story, but Sîrriel must have guessed the ending because she is absolutely crying with laughter at that point. The memory must be a very happy one, because Sîrriel, their Sîrriel, the one sitting by the mirror, smiles and chuckles in her trance.

Then, the next morning, Sîrriel and Maria are evidently nursing the aftermath of heavy drinking, sitting outside on the floor and groaning. Two horses are grazing nearby, another is galloping in the distance. The sound of the hooves hitting the ground is loud, too loud, in fact, and suddenly the memory morphs into another and Sîrriel stands, and she looks like herself again, long hair, long cape, and Maria vanishes, and Sîrriel is speaking to her own horse. 

"Go," she whispers. 

They are standing on a barren, grey land, and a great dark fortress can be seen in the background. Gundabad. 

"Go now, get back." Whispers Sîrriel to the horse. "I shall make my own way home."

The horse, faithful, refuses to leave and even blocks the Queen's way, so Sîrriel uses a different tactic.

"Please, please return, and find my stones." She implores the horse. "They must have slipped from my neck as we rode here, and Thranduil would be most upset. I cannot return without them. I shall look here, and if you return and look nearer the woods."

Finally, the horse gives in, and gallops away. Sîrriel turns to face the fortress. 

"I shall make my own way home," she murmurs, this time to herself, before making one step forward, hesitant, then another, more assured. 

This is the day she died, Thranduil realises with horror. This is moments before her death! They may yet discover exactly what happened!

It takes all of the Elven king's powers of self restraint, as well as the loud warning cry ("Patience!") the lady Galadriel shouts in his mind, to prevent Thranduil from launching himself forward and forcing his wife's hands to remain in the water when Ellie abruptly moves away from the mirror. 

Of course, she would back away. Of course she would back away as soon as it seemed they are getting closer to understanding her fate.

"Whoa," breathes Sîrriel, her hands dripping with water. "Sorry, I... I am tired. This is where it was ending, this memory, I could tell."

Lies. Thranduil shuts his eyes, trying to remain calm. Lies, lies, lies. He hears someone, Gandalf, probably, helping Sîrriel to her feet.

When he opens them again, Thranduil catches his wife throwing him a sheepish look.

"Very well," he articulates, slowly, deliberately. "We shall let you rest."

Not trusting his temper, he turns from the scene and walks away.

He keeps a steady and fast stride, his hands twitching by his sides. 

Patience.


	11. Above the Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ellie and Thranduil have a conversation, and Ellie finds some old possessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think this story might end up splitting into two parts. Got a few more chapters for part 1, which is the part mainly about Ellie/Sîrriel, then I'm tempted to have a part 2 which, whilst still having Ellie, is also centred around another 'returned'. I'll see how this story is doing when we get to where I would end part 1 and go into part 2, and I'll see if I end up just wrapping things up or if I get into it. Got a couple of ideas I fancy writing into part 2, but will have to see! Maybe I should just write it as another story...
> 
> Don't think we're heading back to the Last of Us world, think we're staying in middle earth.
> 
> And also, thanks again for reading :) this started out random, is continuing random, but hey! Here goes.

"Is he mad at me?"

"Mad?" Exclaims Gandalf. "No. There are times where I am baffled by how stubborn and unreasonable he can be, especially for someone who has lived so long and seen so much, but Thranduil is not mad-"

"No," interrupts Ellie, mildly exasperated. "I mean, is he angry with me."

"Oh." 

The wizard does not respond immediately, instead choosing to let his gaze wander round the palatial gardens they are wandering together. Ellie does her best not to appear too desperate to hear his answer - neither of them is dupe.

"I believe Thranduil is angry at the situation, my lady." A soft look came upon his grey face. "I do not think he could ever hold negative feelings towards you, or your son."

"Righto."

They remain silent for a while, and Ellie is annoyed at her own impulse to ask Gandalf why Thranduil has not come to speak to her for days. To avoid this, she voluntarily changes the topic to one almost as unappealing.

"So, for this, this party thing..."

"The celebration of your return."

"Yeah, that. Who's going to be there?"

"Not too many people, I assume. Just a few representatives from Elven lands, such as Rivendell and Lothlorien, perhaps even some of Thranduil's local allies from Laketown, though I doubt it. Oh, and the whole of Mirkwood, of course."

"Of course," dryly says Ellie, catching the wizard' s smile out of the corner of her eye. "And none of them are bothered that I'm not, like, her? Myself?"

"They are aware of the situation, but you must never underestimate the Elves' taste for wine and celebration." He chuckles. "Besides, the whole of Middle Earth is speaking about your return. They might as well speak truth."

"So the elves are actually alcoholics who like gossiping," jokes Ellie. "Maybe I haven't gone that far, huh?"

"My lady Ellie," Gandalf is serious, all of a sudden. "Whatever you do, do not forget that Thranduil is your one true ally in this world. If you trust in nothing else, trust in his loyalty to you."

"I feel like you're my only ally," she confesses, shyly. "I feel like you're the only one who can sort of understand me a bit."

Gandalf stops and takes her hands in his. Ellie tries not to think of the last time someone held her hand. "Give Thranduil a chance to prove himself to you, my lady. He may surprise you. Legolas, too. He has grown to be quite the fine young ellon." He lets a short pause. "I am your friend," adds the Istar, "and Tauriel is also your ally. She is in great need of a friend, at present. You are not alone."

He looks a bit sad, and Ellie nervously comments: "you sound like you're saying goodbye."

"I must take my leave soon. I have... A matter I must attend to."

"Will you come back?"

"We shall meet again." He winks at her. "We have eternity ahead of us."

"Are you also immortal?" 

"That is a simple question with a complex answer," chuckles Gandalf, guiding her back towards the palace. "One I shall answer when we next meet."

Back in her chambers, standing by a window, Ellie is watching anxiously as Gandalf bids farewell to a few elves, down below. He's not leaving until two days later, but already to Ellie it feels like yet another abandonment.

Unable to stay still, and knowing that she will not be able to relax until she receives some answers to her questions, Ellie decides to confront Thranduil, or Elrond, or even Galadriel. What will they do once Gandalf is gone? Isn't he supposed to be this magical, all knowing being? How will the stuck up elves work anything out without the wise old man?

Ellie wanders around the palace in search of elves, when she stumbles upon a room with a great desk. Thranduil is sitting there, his forehead resting in his hand. He looks tired.

Ellie very nearly leaves, but Thranduil's voice echoes in the quiet room.

"How may I help, Sîrriel?"

"Ellie," she corrects him automatically as she turns to face him once more. He is looking up at her, a soft expression on his marble face.

Thranduil lets his gaze wander over his estranged queen. Her shorter hair, the top part gathered into a knot at the back of her head, leaving loose the lower half of her hair to cover her neck. The combat clothes she chooses to wear. The dagger she keeps on her person at all times. Her fidgety attitude, her defiant attitude, her vulnerability. Sîrriel had always had a soft heart, though with immortality she had learnt to conceal it better. Thranduil feels angry, suddenly. Damn this celebration. He has no wish to share her with the rest of the world. The unconditional love he feels for her melts together with feral protectiveness. What will the world think of her now?

"I was wondering..." She starts, oblivious. "I was wondering what will happen now Gandalf is leaving."

"Not much." Replies Thranduil, standing, and following her to the balcony. They both gaze down upon the wizard as he bids farewell to Lord Elrond. "Though I suppose there may be less of a strain on the kitchens."

She snorts. Thranduil tries not to take too much pride in it.

"Why does he have to leave?"

"Who knows? That's what wizards do. They never remain long in a same place."

"I wish he'd stay." She whispers. "Are Galadriel and Elrond going to leave too?"

"Not until after the celebration. I expect they will travel back with their kin."

"What will happen then?"

"I expect you and I will continue to explore your memories." Responds Thranduil, carefully. She seems frightened - is it the prospect of remaining alone with him? Is he this terrifying, in her eyes? He fights the urge to embrace her.

"Is it... Possible to use the mirror without Galadriel?"

"It is." Thranduil searches her gaze, but she evades him. "What really is troubling you, Ellie?"

"Nothing," she says too quickly. "Just..." 

His wife sighs and looks up to the canopy of trees.

"Gandalf said..."'she starts, hesitantly. Her eyes watch him carefully. "He said that you are my 'one true ally'. Is that right?"

"I shall remain by your side, protect you and cherish you for as long as I breathe." Thranduil replies. "Never doubt this."

He's said too much again, and Ellie takes a deep breath and turns away from him.

"God!" She cries out. "Where is the sky? All you can see is trees. Is it day or night?"

"Day. Would you like to go on the tree tops, see the sky for yourself?"

"Is that possible?"

"Of course."

"Is that... Allowed?"

"Of course. This is your kingdom, you are not my prisoner."

Thranduil takes his coat off.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" Ellie immediately questions him, raising two hands up and backing away.

"The steps will only take us so far," he replies. "Then we will have to climb."

"Climb?" She calls out anxiously, but the Elven King is already walking away.

"This way."

Ellie does her best to keep up with Thranduil as he leads her up many different flights of steps, carved into grey stone and seemingly built into the trees. Eventually, they reach a zone where they are the only ones around, and the steps disappear. 

"Here," he climbs up a few branches and offers her his hand, which she ignores. 

They continue climbing up until the branches are fewer and smaller, and eventually, Ellie has no other choice than to reluctantly accept Thranduil's help.  
"How much further-" starts Ellie as Thranduil pulls her to her feet one more time. "Oh!"

They are above the canopy, and the horizon is all deep green leaves, small black butterflies and a dome of bright blue sky. The sunshine makes her shield her eyes, and for a moment Ellie completely forgets to keep her distance from Thranduil as she holds on to his arm and takes in the scene around her. 

"Wow!" Ellie exclaims, letting out a little laugh. "Does this forest ever end?" 

"It does," smiles Thranduil. "Over there lays The Lonely Mountain. These are the Iron Hills. And in this direction lays Lorien, where the lady Galadriel rules. Further north from there is Imladris, home of Lord Elrond."

"All I see is trees" says Ellie. She grips onto his arms even harder as a breeze kindly reminds her how far from the ground she is. "Don't let me fall!"

"I won't."

There is far too much tenderness and gravity in his voice for her liking, and Ellie quickly changes topic. 

"So what do I need to wear for this party thing? The celebration? Do I have to wear a big flowy dress?"

"You are the queen, Sîrriel. And this is your kingdom. The celebration is held in honour of your return. You may wear whatever attire you please."

She studies his face, trying to see if he is serious. Ellie finds no sign of mockery, but their physical proximity is suddenly overwhelming. 

"I see." 

Alas, Ellie isn't spared on the way back down, as with each big drop between branches, and the ground decidedly further away than acceptable, she is forced to let Thranduil help her down a few levels. When they reach easier ground, she is relieved to no longer have to put up with his hands on her waist, and promptly re-establishes a safe distance between them. As soon as it is safe enough to do so, Ellie crosses her arms, shielding her body from him. He does not comment. Deep down, Ellie knows that the most unsettling aspect of it all is how familiar, how safe, it had felt to rely on this perfect stranger. How could any of this be familiar? Even her own body she does not entirely recognise. Taller and leaner than she remembers it, and yet, undeniably hers... Her own mind is no longer her own. Each time she gets to the mirror, she focuses all of her energy into finding Joel, and still, Sîrriel's memories always seem to worm their way in, bringing heartache and doubt with them.

Back in her chambers, Ellie is looking through the wardrobes and drawers at all the different things left there for her to use. A hairbrush, a mirror, clothes, books she cannot read...and is suddenly struck by a thought. Are all these things Sîrriel's? Have they been left there, all this time, as if she were to walk back in through the front door and fancy brushing her hair again? Did Thranduil ever come here, sometimes, just to look at his dead wife's belongings? Did he smell those dresses? Ellie snorts loudly, picturing the ever stern and proud King, his face stuffed inside a pair of fanciful panties. Still, her curiosity is hooked. It must definitely be the queen's things - there are even four different crowns, left in an elaborately decorated trunk. Well, she certainly isn't going to put one of those on again.

"Alright, Sîrriel, let's see what you liked to wear," she whispers, opening her wardrobe.

Dresses, of course. Long, flowy dresses. Fancy coats. The colours range from white to lilac to various shades of green. Sighing, Ellie is about to shut the wardrobe, when her eyes catch sight of a small bundle of rough, dark green material, neatly folded and left at the bottom corner of the wardrobe. Intrigued, she picks it up.

It's two different outfits, she realises. One is made of brown leather trousers and a dark green tunic, the other is a dress, long still, but leaving her feet free, and with sleeves reaching her elbows rather than flowing all the way down to her knees. Instead of a precious belt resting at the hips, there is a bodice, made of tired, dark grey leather. All in all, this looks like a much more humble version of the Elven dresses. It doesn't look like what Galadriel wears, or what Sîrriel apparently used to wear, and Ellie gets the feeling that this would be the formal attire of an elleth of lower rank. It's more similar to what Tauriel seems to wear, though perhaps, even simpler, and without the combat aspect to it. As if under some sort of spell, Ellie puts it on. 

Glancing at her mirror, she grimaces. It's still a long dress, but it is more comfortable, more reasonable. She won't be stepping on the hem of it. The lack of fancy and intricate embroidering reassures her. A further search along the bottom of the wardrobe reveals a simple, dark grey cape, and a pair of brown boots which look like they've been worn, torn and sown back again a few times. A feeling of déjà vu creeps inside, no, floods over Ellie's heart, but it is for once a welcome sensation. 

Yes. This is what she'll wear. She's worn it before.

 

**********

Balcmeg searches the city's gutters, hoping for something more nourishing than the rats they have found. Lagdush keeps a look out, whilst Gol and Foshan bicker in a nearby waste pile.

"Why not steal a baby?" Growls Lagdush. "I can smell one very near! Mm, fresh meat and tender skin..!"

And why not? Balcmeg hears the infant's cries in her head, the one she spared once. No. They won't eat the baby. It doesn't matter why not. 

"The Men will chase us if we take a baby."

"Meat!" Grumbles Gol, snatching a chicken bone from Foshan's eager hands. Foshan snatches it back, calls him a snaga. 

"Let's eat one of them!" Lagdush says, pointing at the other two.

"I'll bite your ears off!" Threatens Foshan.

"Quit fighting!" Says Balcmeg. "Men!" 

"Orcs!" Yells a Man, come to empty his waste bucket.

Foshan and Lagdush bare their teeth at the intruder, Gol whimpers and cowers away.

Balcmeg gathers her three young, and the four orcs crawl away into the darkness.

That's their fourth day without food.


	12. Party People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which elves get drunk and get hurtful. Also, Legolas learns something about his mother, and Thranduil will have some explaining to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I know I say it a lot, but I mean it! And the very kind comments are extremely appreciated.   
> And the random story continues!!

Gandalf leaves exactly two days before the celebration, just as guests begin arriving to the forest. Before taking his leave, he repeats his advice to Ellie - that she should remember Thranduil as her one true ally, and stick close to him during the celebration - and exchanges a somewhat ambiguously meaningful look with the lady Galadriel. 

Legolas, in place of his father, greets the guests. 

Ellie, who has spent most of the previous day exploring the palace, and namely, the kitchens, is relying on the chief butler Galion to point out the various guests to her and Tauriel, whom Ellie is surprised to learn is almost as ignorant as she is.

"These are Gwilwileth and Imlad, an important family from Lothlorien."

"Are these their daughters and son?"

"Hand maids and butler, I'm afraid."

"That's an awful lot of hand maids and butlers for two people."

Galion chuckles. "Over there, the great warrior in a gold armor, is Glorfindel. That older Man is Bard, and the girl is his youngest daughter Tilda. Bard is mayor of Laketown."

"They're normal people?" Eagerly questions Ellie. 

"They're..Men, yes."

Ellie makes a mental note to go and introduce herself to these ones. The girl, Tilda, looks about 16.

"Galion, who is Lord Elrond greeting so warmly?" Questions Tauriel.

"That would be his daughter Arwen Undomiel, the Even star of her people. So named because of her beauty, said to match that of her ancestor Luthien herself. She is Galadriel's granddaughter. The dark haired Ellon by her side is Elrohir, one of Elrond's twin sons. I suppose Elladan, the other son, is guarding Imladris. Wise decision, I hear he is the least hot tempered of the two..."

"That's Galadriel's granddaughter??" 

"Indeed."

"Her granddaughter? As in, Elrond's mother? 

"No-"

"Her mother's mother?"

"Indeed, my lady."

"Elrond's Galadriel's son in law?"

"Indeed."

"And that's the grandson?"

Both Tauriel and Galion are now looking at Ellie with mild worry.

Galadriel comes to greet the siblings. Her...grandchildren. Apparently.

"Galion," interrupts Thranduil, making all three of them jump. "Back to work."

"Yes my lord"

"Tauriel," begins the King. He looks like he is about to scold her as well, when he changes his mind. "I am glad to see you well enough to attend the celebration."

"Thank you, my Lord. I shall return to my duties right away."

"Keep watch of the dungeons," instructs Thranduil. "We have a special guest there, and I do not trust the guards not to drink themselves to sleep."

"Yes my lord."

Now alone with Thranduil, Ellie shrugs.

"You said I could wear whatever I want."

"And you picked your favourite dress," kindly answers Thranduil. "I could never convince you to let go of it."

"Did I have it before becoming queen?"

"Yes."

"Was I... Like, poor?"

He raises an eyebrow at her, teasing. "I would not have called your taste in clothes poor, however, it did get better with age..."

"You know what I mean. Was I of lower rank?"

"Lower rank than queen, certainly."

She shakes her head, knowing he's teasing her, annoyed that it's working.

"Whatever. I'll get you to talk."

"I shall look forward to that."

Ellie blushes slightly at the turn of the conversation and points to the guests. 

"Should we be there greeting them?"

"I suppose so," sighs Thranduil, sounding extremely bored. "Here."

She ignores the arm he's offering her but follows him to the crowd. She does shuffle much closer to him though when Thranduil claps his hands, and all conversations die down.

"Dear guests, allies, friends and kin," begins Thranduil in his booming, commanding voice. All eyes turn to them, and eagerly detail her hair, her outfit. Ellie feels her hands move of its own accord and hold onto Thranduil's arm. The King rests a hand on top of hers, reassuring. Legolas has appeared at his father's other side. "Thank you all for coming to our kingdom and sharing our joy at the return of our most beloved queen. As you may have heard, Sîrriel's memories are still failing her. We are working tirelessly in order to recover them, and understand the circumstances of her disappearance and her return. However," Thranduil's tone of voice abruptly changes, and the next words are more of a warning, than a pleasant welcome. "Please be reassured that even though the queen may have forgotten her kin, as well as her rank, we have not. I have not."

The crowd whispers and exchanges looks, and Ellie senses that the threat has not gone unnoticed. Treat her like a queen, Thranduil is saying. Or else...

Satisfied that his message has come across, Thranduil raises his glass.

"Let us celebrate. To happy returns! To the queen!"

"To happy returns! To the queen!" Echoes the crowd.

The guests return to their conversations, and Thranduil notices that Sîrriel's hands are still clutching onto his arm.

"Are you well, Sîrriel?"

"Yes, sorry. Sorry." She lets go of his arm, to his disappointment. "It's just... A lot of people."

"All of them our allies," Legolas assures her.

Well, most of them, thinks Thranduil.

"Yes, sorry. I'm just not used to seeing this many people together... Like, alive." She gives a nervous little laugh. "Guess I'm sort of expecting them to suddenly turn on us and try to rip us into pieces."

"That's not entirely impossible," says Thranduil, so quietly that Ellie nearly misses it. "Legolas, please introduce your mother to some of our guests. I see a conversation I must disrupt."

Thranduil leaves them and walks over to a small gathering of elves, who quickly pretend not to have been watching them closely.

"Here."

Legolas is offering her his arm. Taken aback, but seeing no way of getting out of it in public, Ellie takes it.

"Where have you acquired this dress?" He asks her, as he leads her away from the scene.

"It was in Sîrriel's wardrobe. My wardrobe, I mean."

"Is it yours?"

"I suppose so. Thranduil said it used to be my favourite and he never could get me to throw it away." When Legolas nods but says nothing, Ellie's curiosity gets the better of her. "Why? Is it strange?"

"It is not strange...but it is silvan. I always suspected, from your hair and your feckles, that you were not Sindar, but my father never mentioned you were a silvan elf."

"Is that... A bad thing?"

"It is not. Tauriel is a silvan elf. In fact, most Mirkwood elves are silvan elves. To my knowledge, only my father and I are Sindar." He smiles. "Though I suppose I am also silvan. I am surprised my father never thought it necessary to tell me this. He never spoke much of you."

"No?"

"Your loss was too painful to him. Still, I wish I had known."

Ellie frowns. Does that mean her and Tauriel are the same rank? Or at least, born in the same social caste?

"Hey, well, at least now I'm here. We can catch up." She snorts. "Not that I know much about myself..."

"You are right." Smiles Legolas, his eyes merry. He really is handsome. Is that weird if she thinks he's handsome? "Let us rejoice! I shall introduce you to someone I believe you will like."

Ellie tries to contain her relief as Legolas leads her towards the two Men, Bard and his daughter.

"My lady, please meet Bard the Bowman, dragon slayer, and mayor of Laketown. This is his youngest daughter Tilda. Bard, Tilda, this is my mother, the queen of Mirkwood, Sîrriel."

"My lady," says Bard, bowing to her. Tilda does a curtsy.

"You're old!" Babbles Ellie. "Sorry, I mean, you're older. I mean, you look older. In a good way! As in it's nice to see some wrinkles after... Sorry."

Bard and Tilda laugh somewhat hesitantly.

"Sorry."

"My mother has lived with Men, prior to being returned to us." Explains Legolas. "She is no longer used to the company of the elves."

"Yes." Says Ellie.

"That is quite alright," says Bard. "It is an honour to meet you, my lady. Your people will be delighted to have you back."

"I don't know," Ellie says, embarrassed. "Tilda, is it?"

"Yes," the girl blushes, looking very much like a rabbit caught in headlights.

"Nice to meet you."

"Y-you too, my lady! You look beautiful, and um..." Tilda looks at her dress. "Comfortable."

As soon as the word leaves her lips, the girl looks positively mortified, blushing a furious shade of purple and covering her mouth with her hand. 

Ellie bursts out laughing.

"I believe you have had enough wine, love," says Bard, taking the glass from his daughter's hand. 

"But, Da...!"

"Last I saw of you, Tilda, you were only about this high." Says Legolas, raising his hand to just above his waist.

"I'm sixteen, now." 

"Indeed. How fare your sister and brother?"

"They are both well, thank you. They wish they could come, but it's my turn to go to parties!"

"And I hope you enjoy this one. May I trust you with my mother, whilst I go and fetch her a glass of wine, and some food?"

"Of course!" Beams Tilda.

Legolas leaves, and Ellie is alone with the other two.

"So you've met Legolas before?" 

"Yes, he saved us from a bunch of Orcs!"

Tilda excitedly starts telling her of Legolas' prowesses when the town was attacked by Orcs, not stopping until Bard mentions that Tilda has not, in fact, stopped talking about the elf prince since that day.

"Is Tauriel here?" Tilda asks then, changing topic.

"She is, she's... Somewhere by the dungeons I think. Maybe if you ask someone to take you...?"

"I will take them." Says Legolas, reappearing. "Tauriel will be delighted to see you, Tilda."

He hands Ellie some food and wine, and tells her that Elrond will introduce her to his son and daughter soon. Legolas leaves with the two Men, and Ellie remains alone. A few different people come and greet her, but they all leave fairly quickly, probably unsure on how to be around her. It seems they have no idea how to be around mortals, and by default, resort to speaking to them like to children. "Which is your favourite?" They ask her about the different dishes served. She overhears them asking the same thing to Bard and Tilda.

Moments go by without Elrond coming to her, and Ellie starts wondering if she should go find him herself, when a soft, melodic voice chimes next to her.

"Well met, Sîrriel of the Woodland Realm." 

The voice belongs to the elleth Ellie recognises as Elrond's daughter. Galadriel's granddaughter. 

"I am Arwen Undomiel." 

Arwen is stunning, even for an elf. She has long dark hair, smooth creamy skin and beautiful grey eyes. She seems to glow from inside, like starlight.

Itaril.

The word floats in her mind for a few seconds, then disappears. It feels like she should remember its meaning. 

"I hope you don't mind, I have taken the liberty to come and greet you myself." continues the elleth. "I have not seen you since I was a very young child, at the celebration of your marriage to King Thranduil. I remember you gave me sweets."

"Oh!" Stammers Ellie. "Well I... Nice to meet you. I hope you enjoyed the sweets."

"I did!" Replies Arwen, merrily. "I do not remember much else from the wedding. Only that you gave me sweets and that I then endeavoured to hide them from my brothers... Until my mother found out and forced me to share with them."

Ellie laughs. Arwen seems nice. Or at least, she seems to know how to interact with mortals. She was a child at Ellie's wedding?? It is completely insane to think that the age difference between them is that great, but with a bit of wine and a lot of good will, Ellie can let it go. For now.

"How is your mother?"

Arwen's face falls, and a sad smile traces her lips.

"My mother has passed."

"Oh, God. I'm so, so sorry, I... I have lost my memories and..."

"It is no trouble. She is happier now, she has sailed West, and awaits us there."

Ellie is confused as to whether this means the mother has passed as in passed away, dead, or if she has sailed somewhere. Or is 'sailing west' like 'gone to heaven'? She makes a mental note of questioning Thranduil about it later.

Arwen is lovely company, and a few hours pass, Sîrriel becoming gradually more and more relaxed. She meets a few more elves, and notices the ones from Mirkwood are, in fact, more relaxed and, perhaps, more 'rowdy' than the other ones. As rowdy as elves can get, that is. They certainly drink more!

Still, despite the wine, and despite the company of Arwen, Bard and Tilda, Ellie starts feeling a bit tired of the crowd, and catches herself oddly missing the company of Thranduil, and, what's more, of Legolas.

As if on cue, her eyes fall upon him, her so called husband, and they exchange a look. He is bored, she can tell. She doesn't know how she can tell, because he lets nothing show, but he is bored. Someone is speaking to him, but his eyes are fixed on her, and she can tell he's bored, and trying not to let it be too obvious. Automatically, without thinking about it, they exchange a smile, and it feels normal, nice, familiar. Like they've been bored together at parties before. Then she remembers that she's forgotten and the charm is broken. She turns away from him.

"Who are you, really? Why you?"

The Ellon speaking to her now, smelling of wine and years of repressed anger, she recognises as Arwen's brother Elrohir.

"Pardon?"

"Who are you?"

"Sîrriel."

"No, truly, who are you?"

"...My name's Ellie. I used to be Sîrriel, but I've forgotten."

He takes a big mouthful of wine.

"You don't remember your son."

"I know. I'm sure I will, someday."

"My mother," he starts, swaying a little bit, "my mother lost her soul, too. Why isn't she returned to us? Why you, huh? Why you? You're..! You're no one!"

"This is queen Sîrriel of Mirkwood, Elrohir son of Elrond. Watch your mouth." 

Thranduil has appeared by her side, menacing and protective at once.

"No," argues Elrohir, who's started to attract a bit of a crowd. "This is Ellie. Some daughter of Man from another realm. My mother has not been returned to us, but yours hasn't either, Legolas! Why would the Valar be so cruel? Returning this- this girl, and having my father attend to her? Teasing Legolas with an empty shell of a mother? Why did they not return her fully? Why did they not return my mother? She, too, was slain by Orcs, and her mind left her."

"Our mother was not slain by Orcs," intervenes Arwen. "She sailed-"

"No! No, Arwen, she did not choose to sail West, she was but a walking corpse when we found her, and father put her on a boat..."

"That's enough, Elrohir!" Elrond bellows.

"But it's true!" Yells Elrohir. "They never found her body!" He points at Ellie. "And now here she is, having lost her mind! Who's to say it is not what befell our mother? Who's to say the body we found was not only partially alive, but mindless? Who's to say our mother's mind is not somewhere in her land..!" He waves wildly at Ellie with the hand holding his glass, and some wine splashes across her face. "Why would she be less worthy than her? Why would they choose to return some silvan elf over our mother?"

"ENOUGH!" Yells Thranduil, and the whole of Mirkwood seems to turn silent and still. "Elrond, take your son away. Elrohir of Imladris, I will forgive your outburst, for I understand your pain all too well. But I will tolerate no more! The queen and I shall take our leave, now."

Not bothering to check for her answer, Thranduil wraps his arm around Ellie and immediately guides her away from the crowd.

But it seems the night is not quite done with them yet, as the next thing to disrupt the peace and prevent them from retiring for the night is Legolas, shoving another elf against a table, sending plates and drinks flying.

Well, thinks Ellie, shit got real, real quick.

 

************

This was a mistake, Balcmeg thinks, as she does at least once a day. They should never have left the pack. The infant was not even hers, she did not owe it anything. 

In the dark, Foshan can still see the thoughts clear as day on the old Orc's face. Gol and Lagdush think the same - it's even worse for them because they never chose any of it. Their lives would have been much better with the pack - they're both males, and they're both Orcs. But Balcmeg said, and Foshan does not even like Lagdush that much anyway, so, Foshan presses on. Maybe one day they'll make their own pack, where no ones tells them to die. 

They're hungry and that's all that matters. Lagdush and Gol are getting excited now, they can smell the meat. Foshan smells it too, but it doesn't smell right. Foshan has never liked eating dead flesh. 

They keep digging. They're nearly at the corpse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch this space - these four Orcs matter.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so, I know, this is silly, no one ever wanted this crossover, but hey, maybe I'll just leave it at the prologue and call it a day.   
> Anyways.  
> I own neither of these universes and no characters, and I'm not making any profit. I just woke up one day and thought, what if Ellie turned out to be Thranduil's wife? Then realised it was what no one else wanted to know, but wrote it anyway. I'm really selling it, aren't I?  
> Forget everything I've just said.


End file.
